


The Reign of Dragons

by lightningthunder09



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Daenerys Targaryen Deserves Better, Full on Targaryen glory fest, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow's Name is Daeron, Jonerys AU Fest, Like his childhood hero, Lyanna Stark still died, Multi, R Plus L Equals J, Sibling bonds for Daeron and Aegon, Viserys is still an ass, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 43,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21928174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningthunder09/pseuds/lightningthunder09
Summary: What if Rhaegar won at the Trident, and House Targaryen continued to rule? A world where Robert Baratheon never sat the Iron Throne, where Jon Snow never needed to exist, where Daenerys and Viserys never had to run away, and the dragons get to live together. But even then, their world is not perfect at all.
Relationships: Aegon VI Targaryen/Margaery Tyrell, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 394
Kudos: 349





	1. I. Daeron

**Author's Note:**

> hey there. this is supposed to be a long running thing, but as it is my first time writing like this, let’s see where it goes :)

# I. Daeron

It was so hard to stay still atop his saddle. Even harder was trying not to sprint ahead of the column, ride as fast as possible, so he could get to her sooner. The desire and anxiety were threatening to consume his soul. 

As it stood, the young prince was already riding right in front of everyone else, forcing the pace to the closest thing to racing, and not allowing for a lot of rest. They were just a few hours away from King’s Landing, and that made Daeron even more unwilling to pause. 

His mood had been sour throughout the journey, and not many traveling with the prince risked speaking much to him. So as the young dragonwolf heard another rider approaching, he knew exactly who it was. 

“Your Grace.” Called Ser Jaime Lannister, a hint of amusement already. “Would you care to slow down?”

Prince Daeron glanced at the kingsguard sideways.

“We are so close to the city already. If anything, it is time to ride faster.”

The golden lion did not answer immediately, instead taking some moments to get his horse right by the prince’s side, the two of them falling in a steady pace. 

“You see, my prince, the men did not have enough pauses in our march and the rhythm is exhausting. As you know, the North is a long way from King’s Landing.”

It was all very reasonable, said calmly. Yet Daeron knew his companion was enjoying watching him squirm, on some level. He let out a sigh.

“It would be simple if I could just ride ahead.”

“A prince of the Realm should not even be riding in front of the men this way, but I am trying to be considerate of your feelings. Donot make me chase you all the way to the Red Keep.”

“Perhaps I should make you chase me, so I can tell Father you were protecting me.” Daeron smiled mischievously, making the lion snort. 

“Your Grace, may I offer some advice?”

“You may, if you stop calling me that, _Ser_.”

“Alright, _Daeron_. Take it from me. When people don’t call me kingslayer, the next insult is sisterfucker. There is a reason for that, aside from the obvious: I was not careful. I thought myself a lion of the Rock, that could do as he pleased. I was wrong.”

The prince felt like answering right away, defensive, but gave up half way to it. There was no point in denying. 

“And what do you want? For me to leave Daenerys? I would sooner give up my claim to the Iron Throne.”

This was no idle threat. The damn thing was meant for his brother, Aegon, after all. He did not have to be tied down by anything. Only by her.

Ser Jaime looked at Daeron with a hint of shock on his green eyes, that vanished as quickly as it came. 

“I would not dare to make such a suggestion. But I am advising caution. You think half of the Keep does not know about your sneaking in and out of the princess’ chambers?”

“What if they know?” Daeron felt like blushing, but stood his ground, grey eyes growing hard. “We are dragons of House Targaryen. Unlike the Lannisters, this is our way”

“Even Aegon, the Conqueror made compromises. He submitted to the Faith of the Seven when taking the Kingdoms, and founded your House to model the ways of the Westerosi. The only reason the incest was kept was to ensure the blood of Old Valyria necessary to ride a dragon. There are no more dragons and no more excuses. The people and the Faith look down on such things.”

Daeron knew. King Rhaegar’s reign was a delicate state of affairs. Their House had been weakened profoundly many times: first, with the Dance of Dragons, and the resulting death of the marvelous creatures. Then, it was the Tragedy at Summerhall, taking out over half of the human dragons. And last, Robert’s Rebellion. If they were weak before, the way the Rebellion happened, and how close the Baratheon traitor had gotten to usurping his father had showed everyone just how far that weakness went. 

It made Prince Daeron absolutely furious to think on how the other great Houses and the Lannisters most of all, surrounded them like bloody hungry vultures. 

Ever since, they had been careful. Years of effort and a solid rule, had made the people as fond of the King as they had been before the rebellion, and there was no denying that seeing his father, silver hair and indigo eyes, sitting the Throne with his benevolent yet firm way was reassuring, something that put at ease the Lords, even the ones that wished the power for themselves, for the most part.

Even so, they could not afford mistakes. _But how can the thing that feels most perfect in my world be a mistake?_. His prolongued silence made Ser Jaime sigh sadly. 

“I am loyal to you. To your family, no matter how my father behaves. I am a knight of the Kingsguard, and as before, willing to put my honor, my name, and everything I stand for in jeopardy to follow my duty. That is why I am going out of my way to say this, boy. With your uncle Viserys and the situation delicate as always, you can not act about this as a dragon would. You must be a wolf - prowling in the dark, calculated, to ensure you get all you want, in one clean strike. Lucky for you, you have the potential to be both.”

Daeron took a long look at the knight at that point. His face was of gentle concern, and the prince felt it deeply. Ser Jaime and some of the other Kingsguards that were closest had all but raised the Targaryen children alongside his father, after the Rebellion. Even though there were only 6 dragons remaining in the world, it felt as a large family, with Ser Barristan, Ser Jaime, Ser Arthur, Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell surrounding them. 

Ser Jaime, the Kingslayer, against all odds, was extremely dear to King Rhaegar. Had the knight not taken upon himself to end the life of the Mad King, all other lives on Kings Landing, including Daeron’s siblings and Princess Elia, would have been lost forever. They all understood the evil that Jaime had faced, the terrible choice. Almost all, at least. 

That was the reason Ser Jaime was the knight sent to meet him as Daeron was halfway across the King’s Road. All of the young dragons, aside from Aegon, had been sent to stay with some of the great families of Westeros. A move to enforce strings of bond to House Targaryen, as the King refused to sell his young ones as cattle for marriage. 

Daeron had spend three moon turns with House Stark in the North. Even though the Starks were linked to the Throne through his parents union, and his very existence, the Lords of the North themselves were still unruly. They needed a reminder that a true son of the North, the cub of the she wolf, was their prince.

“I know that. I appreciate your honesty. It is hard to rule my temper and restrain my desires. But not impossible.” Daeron realized that what he would say next hurt his very core, but he did regardless. “Tell the men to hold the march for now. We will continue in a few hours.”

Ser Jaime smiled, comprehensive. After all, in many ways, they shared the same issue. 

“Thank you, Your Grace. For listening.”

He was turning his horse around before Daeron could complain again about the use of titles.


	2. II. Rhaegar

# II. Rhaegar

“It is a matter of loyalty, first of all. We live surrounded by a pack of rabid dogs.”

The king sat at his Small Council, quietly agreeing with Lord Baelish’s words, even though they did not tend to agree on much. 

Days in his reign were usually like this one, turbulent, at least amongst them. Always arguing and pondering on the best way to proceed. As the heir to the Mad King, and the spark to a disastrous rebellion, King Rhaegar Targaryen, First of His Name, did not get to make many more mistakes. 

This particular morning, they were discussing the matter of marriage, yet again. 

“Your Grace.” The sickly sweet voice of the Spider still made Rhaegar’s skin crawl, and he resented not being able to get rid of the man for the hundredth time. “Your refusal to marry Lady Cersei has been, from the beginning, a great hassle to your rule. Perhaps it is time to smooth things over, specially by forming alliances through the princes and princesses of House Targaryen.”

The king greeted his teeth, trying to hold on to his patience. He lost count of how many times this same argument was leveled against him. 

“I could have sworn I made myself clear before. There will be no marriage to which my children do not agree.” His tone was iron, final. “It does not work. A dragon is not a slave.”

Rhaegar felt that deeply. If he never married Elia, and had time to know Lyanna later, then just maybe things would be way less complicated. Less constant rebuilding of the name and image of his House. 

“Father.” Aegon’s smooth voice broke the tension. “I am your heir. Your eldest son. If a marriage is called for, then it will be so.”

The crown prince looked so calm, sitting there in the council as all of Rhaegar’s children would do frequently, though none as much as Egg. He was already a man, of ten and six, and he understood well the difficult art of the game. 

Seeing him made the King’s heart constrict painfully. Aegon looked the most like himself, lavander eyes the exact same shade as Dany’s, silver hair brushing his shoulders, and the beautiful sun kissed skin of his mother. The dragon finally had three heads, and Aegon would be the head to hold the South in the great wars to come. 

Aegon thought he knew what being married this way meant, and that he could endure it. Rhaegar was well aware that there was simply no way his son could truly know, however. Not until you are already beyond going back. 

“That would be great timing, seeing as Lady Margaery and Sir Loras of House Tyrell ride to King’s Landing as we speak, in the company of princess Daenerys.” Lord Varys spoke before Rhaegar. 

_I could burn this man. If there was only one I was allowed to burn, there would be a crisped Spider in no time_. The King rarely would let his mind wander to such places, but Gods, these were the scary moments he somewhat understood his own father. 

“Son. If you wish to speak on it, I would rather do it between ourselves.” 

Prince Aegon let his chin drop slightly, in agreement. 

“But there is no denying that an union with House Tyrell would be most agreeable, Your Grace. Winter is coming, as your beloved Starks enjoy saying, and we need to be well stocked with food and ready.” His Hand, Lord Jon Connington said. 

_Your beloved Starks_. The jab did not go unnoticed by the king. He had called Jon back from exhile as soon as he sat the Throne, eager to save his friend, and eventually made Jon his Hand, one of the few people left he could trust. Yet lately, Rhaegar had started to regret that last decision.

“I will decide what is most agreeable or not, my Lord Hand. This council meeting is over, leave me.”

The men stared at each other for a second before raising and leaving one by one. Jon looked particularly hurt, but Rhaegar could not bring himself to care at that moment. 

Only he and Aegon were left, with Ser Arthur standing by the door.

“Arthur, for the Old Gods and the New, sit your ass over here.” The king was too tired to keep up with the fancy words, and needed his Lord Commander to relax, or maybe he’d explode with tension. 

Both Aegon and Arthur chuckled, and the later came to occupy the chair Lord Varys vacated, golden armor catching the sunlight. 

“Rhaegar, as much as I understand you, House Targaryen does need alliances. Houses Martell and Stark are bound to you by the strangest of circumstances, but every other House between these two is harder to know.” 

“House Connington holds the Stormlands in my name. House Tully goes where House Stark leads. House Arryn has been suitably punished, and Lord Jon is an honorable man to his core. House Tyrell is made of climbers, and I will be their best chance to be flourishing roses. House Greyjoy has kept to themselves ever since their poor excuse of a rebellion. That leaves us with House Lannister, and Tywin can jump to the rocks bellow for all I care.” 

“This is not strong enough. The stormlanders resent House Connington for remaining loyal to you during the Rebellion, and the Baratheons are not all dead.” Arthur would not let it go. “We can not depend on the honor of a man who went into open defiance of House Targaryen. As for the Lannisters, they are still extremely powerful, and until proven otherwise, the richest House of the Realm. We should secure the next richest. If the Tyrells are climbers, than let us allow them to climb.” 

“The Lannisters wanted to climb all over me when I became King, even though moments before they had been sitting outside my gates ready to sack my city, and probably kill my family.” Rhaegar said furiously, indigo eyes flaring. “What they, and the Tyrells want, is to hold more power than us, by making us dependent on them.” 

“I agree. But what other choice do we have? The Houses need to be secured, by more than just words and oaths.”

“We can wait.” Aegon intervened quietly. “Aunt Daenerys will be here soon, and we will get to see the Tyrells for ourselves. They say Ser Loras is quite the swordsman, and Lady Margaery a smart, beautiful woman. I will not set out to marry her without care, this I promise, _kepa_.”

King Rhaegar let out a huge breath, tall frame falling against the back of his chair. Tired. He felt tired all the time. Yet he kept pushing his own limits, living for his duty, because once Rhaegar saw what throwing it all for love did to his entire world. 

For his mother. For his children and siblings. For Elia. _For my wolf_. Rhaegar was a dragon that refused to give in. The blood of Old Valyria had not seen the last of its days, and under his careful watch, it would prosper again. 

“All right. Let us see the young roses.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I edited this chapter slightly because I realized that I forgot House Greyjoy entirely 😂 My apologies. Just think of the Greyjoy Rebellion going pretty much the same, but with Rhaegar crushing them instead of Robert.


	3. III. Cersei

# III. Cersei

It felt strange that, with all the turmoil, she managed to stay at Casterly Rock, untouched. The beauty of the Lannisters, meant from the beginning to marry Rhaegar and become queen. The queen. But here she was, all but forgotten.

This was not how she planned it. Not how it was meant to be. Rhaegar knew her, and even then, had rejected her. Not once, but twice. Cersei loved him, more even than she loved Jaime, and he went on to marry the dornish whore, and the stupid northerner, and let them give him children. 

She felt her nails digging into her palms, wanting to draw blood. The eldest child of Tywin Lannister, confined to the Rock, stuck with her montruous younger brother, with Jaime away, the two men she loved together at King’s Landing while Cersei lost the one power she had always held over everyone else: her own body. 

No one cared that Jaime was unmarried. He was a knight, he could swing his stupid sword until finding his death, which most everyone would probably end up calling honorable somehow. 

But she was a woman. Meant for marriage and children and to let some man take out his anger on her. How Cersei loathed such a position. 

Her green eyes looked out the window, over the lands of her House. The tight dress felt suffocating, the nothingness of her existence numbing. 

Lord Tywin had mulled over the issue plenty of times. But with his dear Jaime still serving as a Kingsguard, he did not dare attack Rhaegar, and as Houses Stark and Arryn retreated into submission, and House Baratheon, the closest family with any claim to Targaryen blood, had been diminished until it barely existed, he was out of many options.

Cersei knew her father had done the next logical thing: feed into the threat that Lyanna Stark’s son meant to House Martell. Or at least it seemed logical enough. 

That was not what they found. Cersei had gone to Dorne personally, to that terrible place where one could not take a bloody step without sweating profusely.

Elia Martell, back to her home, and still a constant presence in King’s Landing, did not seem worried in the slightest about the northern brat. None of the Martells did. The princess of Dorne spoke only of her “dearest Daeron”, as if he was one of her own.

It was well beyond Cersei’s understanding. Had she been in Elia’s place, she would have the boy murdered in his sleep. 

“Good morning, dear sister. You look lovely today.” 

This time her skin did break, and a small trickle of hot blood trailed towards the side of her fist. She turned to look towards Tyrion, his uneven step bringing him closer to her. _That monstrous thing walking around in the colors of my House as if he has rights_.

The food was served in front of Cersei, but she had not touched a thing. Tyrion sat directly in front of her. 

“Your pretty face, however, does not match your always terrible mood.”

He was grabbing food all around, not concerned by the intense look of hatred she showed him. 

“It is quite hard to keep a good mood when I am stuck with you.”

“Likewise. I do try my best.”

Cersei was about to respond, when their Father entered, walking towards the table in decisive steps, clearly angry. 

“The dragonspawn sent his children to the great houses, yet none of them came to me, to the Warden of the West!” His fist collided with the table, making everything shake. 

“In his defense, the King only has so many children.” Tyrion said through a mouthful of bacon, again not disturbed at all by the lions pacing around him. “Houses Martell, Tully and Greyjoy did not receive any visits as well.” 

“These are either insignificant, or already safely bound to the Iron Throne.” Cersei said dismissively. “With us, it is different. He is sending a message.”

“Rhaegar will know that he made a grave mistake in counting House Lannister out of his reign.” Tywin sat at the head of the table. “It is time the two of you start to make yourselves useful.”

Cersei had a feeling that this could be even worse than staying at the Rock. 

“Tyrion will go to King’s Landing. Try for once to use that never ending talk of yours to somehow ingratiate yourself to the King. He has kept us away from his rule entirely, but it ends now.” 

“Perhaps you can entertain Rhaegar by dancing in his court.” The very image on her mind made Cersei laugh. 

“As for you, Cersei, you will marry. I am sending you to Highgarden. Princess Daenerys has been sent there, and word is that she comes back with the two younger children of Lord Tyrell. That does not matter, if you can secure the heir to the Reach.”

It was Tyrion’s turn to find amusement in his sister’s predicament. 

“That cripple? Why do we even need those fools?”

“Because we can not allow the Targaryens to have them. Their riches and grain would end Rhaegar’s need for us, and that will not happen. Marry Lord Willas and end this threat in its infancy. I will hear no complaints.” 

Cersei did not know what she feared most: being rejected once more or being finally sold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be clear, this story is not so much about the Lannisters/Baratheons, since they are simply not as relevant without Robert. However, I still find it important to deal with them, at least in the beginning, so here we are.  
> In the long run, this is more about the Restoration of House Targaryen/how that plays into the Long Night.


	4. IV. Eddard

# IV. Eddard

The end of summer was near. He knew it. One did not live for so long in the winds of the North without understanding them as well as their own soul. 

The ride back after the execution of a deserter of the Night’s Watch was a heavy one, with Robb, Theon and young Bran close behind, in relative silence. 

Lord Stark was searching his brain for a reason someone would have to leave the Night’s Watch. Other than their vows of never taking wives, and the cold at the Wall, he could not find any. He could only believe the man had grown insane. After all, there was no such thing as the Others. 

The Night’s Watch under the last years of King Rhaegar’s reign was something to behold. The place well kept, the men fed and trained and looked after. Once more, they began to look like the elite force they were founded to be. 

He knew many in the Realm found this to be a waste. That there was nothing beyond the Wall other than a frozen horizon. But even if that was true, it was still the northernmost border of the Seven Kingdoms, and it should be protected strongly. 

Ned never imagined this time would come, yet here he was. Loyal to the Targaryens in truth, with a sense of pride to serve. When Robert fell at the Trident, it did not feel right. Still did not. But with years of hindsight now, he was faced with the reality that Robert would not have been as fine a ruler as Rhaegar. Now, he had accepted the clarity of Lyanna’s words to him, so long ago. His sister had seen his friend for who he truly was, from miles away. 

Barely a few nights had passed since he left, but Eddard missed his nephew already. Almost the same age as Robb, the two had been close since they met as children, and even more so over the last three moons. Arya too, now that she was bigger, trailed after the boys, and Daeron favored her most of all. 

The Lord of Winterfell understood the weight of the visit. The boy did not come as merely family, but as a prince of the Realm. Many of his Lords had assembled to see Daeron, curiosity winning most of them over, as they wished to see the prince now that he was a grown man. 

The resemblance to Lyanna was uncanny. The ones who had known her were instantly reverent, for his sister was well loved during her life and after her death. Still, it was easy to see Rhaegar in the prince. The same brooding nature, slender swift body, and soothing smile. 

Ned thanked Rhaegar’s decision. Sometimes more than others, it was hard to rule over the Lords of the North, as many of them let their feelings of defeat in the Rebellion speak louder than anything else. They forgot that now the blood of the First Man ran in the royal line of House Targaryen forever, binding their fates. One look upon Prince Daeron helped them see it.

Also, it did not hurt that Daeron was so easy to love. He was confident in a way that inspired the men to admire him, while also making the women follow his every move. Yet all of it was surrounded by an earnest, natural disposition, that kept him from looking conceited. Truly, he was Rhaegar come again. 

The raven Ned had received before Daeron arrived still made him confused, nevertheless. Rhaegar seemed keen that his youngest son should spend some time with Sansa, and while Ned himself had no true objections to it, he wondered why. The affection between Prince Daeron and Princess Daenerys was notorious enough that even in the far North it was considered common knowledge. Lord Stark had pondered plenty over the issue, but could not fathom the reason. 

Not that it mattered. Daeron had treated Sansa strictly as family, and seemed completely removed from having cares about females in general. So deep in love that there is no swaying.

“Look! A direwolf!”

Ned followed the direction Robb had pointed at, and sure enough, in the ground, was the destroyed body of an enormous grey wolf, the antlers of a stag still lodged into the symbol of House Stark. The scene made him uneasy.

“Direwolves have not been seen this side of the Wall for hundreds of years.” Lord Stark remarked.

Theon was on the ground beside Robb, and the two crouched down until both emerged with crying pups. 

“There are five wolves.” Theon said. “They are the sigil of your House. It must be fate to have them.” 

Eddard did not want to take them, but the looks from Bran and Robb melted his heart. Sure enough, they were going back to Winterfell with five direwolves. 

As they were turning to leave, Bran suddenly stopped.

“Wait. Do you hear it?”

The four stood still, yet Ned heard nothing that was out of place. Before he could answer, Bran had left his horse, running back towards the great fallen direwolf.

His son returned with the grey pup that was already tucked in his arms, and another, white as fresh fallen snow, with blood red eyes, that remained eerily quiet. 

“This one was away from the others. He could have died alone. We should not allow it.” 

He extended his small arm, so that Lord Stark could hold the tiny wolf, smaller than the rest. 

“We should give it to Daeron.” Robb said suddenly. “He is also a son of House Stark. That way the wolf will have someone.” 

Ned looked quietly into the eyes of the direwolf. The creature felt as if it had awareness, made of true magic. While the fur was winter, the eyes were fire and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn’t leave out our boy Ghost


	5. V. Daenerys

# V. Daenerys

The ride had been longer than she anticipated. Had it been left to her, they would have ridden with no pauses, as fast as possible. Yet as a good host, the princess begrudgingly catered to the ways of the Tyrell siblings. That meant Lady Margaery was in a litter, and the column of men stopped quite a lot to rest, as instructed by Ser Loras, who insisted on leading the men of House Targaryen and the ones who had come from the Reach, until they met the Kingsguard sent to escort them the rest of the way. 

That was why Daenerys was almost besides herself with joy when they where reunited with Ser Barristan. 

“Finally, Ser Barristan. I am in need of a champion. Perhaps you could tell the Tyrells that there is urgency in our arrival? I am tired of waiting and being in that litter.”

The knight laughed, familiar with Dany. He knew what she wanted: to ride her own horses, and most of all, to be back with Daeron. 

“Your Grace, I will see to it the next time Ser Loras wants to take breaks.”

“Thank you.” She paused slightly. “Can you say if any of the others have returned?”

“Not when I left, princess. We had received ravens warning of the coming of all of them, but none had yet arrived. The most recent raven was from Prince Viserys, he should be home last, even though he is closest, at Dragonstone. As for Prince Daeron, his raven was the first. He could be at the Keep right now.”

Dany clenched her jaw. The Reach was so much closer than the North, and she had planned on being at King’s Landing when Daeron arrived, to receive him. They had exchanged some ravens over their time apart, but it was not the same. She needed his grey eyes, his smell, his voice. She needed to be _home_.

Her time at Highgarden had been such a duality of emotions. Although she enjoyed the way the Tyrells lived, it was no rival to the ways of the Targaryens of the Crown Lands. As much as Dany loved spending time with Lady Margeary, she terribly missed laughing with Rhaenys. And even while Ser Loras sweeped her out of her feet at feasts, literally while dancing and sometimes figuratively with his never ending charms, it did not come close to Daeron’s constant heat. 

She was the King’s sister, and as such, should serve her House well. And Daenerys strived for that always, committed to her duty. This, however, was not something she could do. Marrying Loras or Wilas was out of the question, no matter how much she liked both of them. She was taking the Tyrells to the Red Keep, and that was the extent of it. 

There was also a creeping fear in her heart that things could have somehow changed. That Daeron could think her heart had moved away from him, or worse, that his had left her. No one said it out loud, but Dany knew that her eldest brother expected one or both of them to meet someone else, and change their minds. 

That was because, while Rhaegar did not opposed their union itself, he did have a strong dislike of the idea of House Targaryen fighting amongst themselves. 

Which could very well happen, since Viserys was a bloody idiot. 

“Why not let Viserys stay at Dragonstone forever? We will speak to him again sometime in the next ten years.”

“Viserys is your father’s son in ways Rhaegar never was. One must be careful when dealing with wildfire.” 

Dany fidgeted at the mention of the substance. Rhaegar had it removed from the city years ago, but they still had it in store. The thing her father had planned to kill everyone with. Viserys could very well be made of that stuff, with his volatile temper. 

“We should not be so worried about the unreasonable desires of my brother. He should be put in his place, Rhaegar is king.” She insisted even as she knew it was not so easy. 

“Yes, he is. And it is probably the most fragile rule in Targaryen history. Rhaegar has no dragons, and the Rebellion was not so long ago. We can not afford Viserys fighting for his perceived right to the Throne. Aegon’s reign should be the time when all of Rhaegar’s hard work pays off.”

Dragons. Fire made flesh would solve their issues in a way not even marriage alliances could. Daenerys missed the dragon egg in her room inside the Keep. Each of them owned an egg, which perhaps was only a vain wish on their part. 

She had not told anyone aside from Daeron, but the princess felt life lurking underneath the petrified shells. If only she could find the right way to hatch them. 

“When my father removed Rhaegar’s children from succession, it was at the height of his madness. No one would follow Viserys anywhere.” Of this she was confident.

“He could still find those insane enough to support him. After all, when chaos happens, it is the time to take advantage. Many of the lords still do not love Rhaegar. And when it comes to you, none would care. If they knew, they would just want to let Viserys have his sister wife as he desires. Rhaegar goes through the pains of protecting you because he loves you.”

Sometimes it was difficult not to just call Rhaegar “father” instead of “brother”. He was everything Dany knew, since their parents were dead before she could even crawl. As a child, she adored him more than any other person. And even now, only Daeron could come before Rhaegar. 

That was why she tried to be careful. To not be so harsh when it came to the man Dany had chosen. She knew that Rhaegar would eventually let it go when he realized that there was no one else for either of them, for a dragon mates for life. 

“I will deal with Viserys myself if necessary, Ser Barristan. No one will attack Rhaegar as long as I draw breath.”


	6. VI. Aegon

# VI. Aegon

“You’re distracted!”

He proved his point by moving his sword to the right, only to hit Daeron’s ribs to the left. 

“Yield.”

Again, his brother proved him right by simply letting his sword fall, instead of putting up a fight. It was starting to unnerve Aegon greatly. He and Daeron were evenly matched swordsmen, and he was looking for a real spar. 

“Do you want to talk? This living dead act of yours is driving me insane.”

“Sorry, Egg. I am really not in the mood for anything.”

His younger brother had arrived a few hours earlier, and while he had been happy to be home, Aegon knew Daenerys’ absence was taking away from that joy. 

“You are being a bit dramatic, Daeron. She will be here by tomorrow in the worst case.”

Daeron shot him a nasty look. He was always annoyed at being called dramatic, or broody, or anything of the sort. However, it was not Aegon’s fault that his brother was exactly all of that. He wished Rhaenys had arrived from the Eyrie as well, so they could poke fun at their youngest sibling together, until they were all laughing. The moons without the blood of his blood had been particularly hard on Aegon. 

“Anything could have happened while she was there. Ser Loras is coming with her, is he not? The Tyrells probably expect a marriage soon enough.”

“The marriage you mention must be expected of me, since Lady Margaery comes as well. With the rumors about Ser Loras, it does not seem he would be all that interested in our aunt.”

Ser Daisy, they would call him. Aegon did not care about these rumors as much as he cared about the ones surrounding the possibility that Ser Loras’ lover was Renly Baratheon. That was the true issue as far as he could see. 

He understood that his father did not wish to be seen as ruthless or mad, so King Rhaegar had not taken the lives of the younger Baratheons, opting instead to strip them of their lands and titles, and make Lord Jon his new Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Even so, Aegon perceived the situation as grey clouds forming on their horizon, promising the storms the stags were so fond of. That only furthered the need to marry Margaery and firmly place House Tyrell on their side.

Daeron snorted. 

“Fine. Perhaps I am being paranoid. It is hard not to be when everything seems to be stacked against us.”

“For the most part, we could be far worse. Wait for Dany to come, then you can proceed to yank your beautiful curls out if need be.”

At long last, Daeron granted him one of his hard earned laughs, pushing Aegon on the chest lightly. 

“I have missed you terribly, _rōva lēkia_.” Daeron said quietly, with a slight northern accent he must had picked up during the last moons, making his Valyrian sound different. “You always try to keep me in reality.”

It was the truth. Grounding Daeron should probably be listed among Aegon's many talents, since no other member of their family went to such lenghts to do it. The crown prince could not stand allowing his brother to overthink and doubt everything. He held Daeron's hand for a moment, their eyes meeting. Grey and violet, the wolf and the sun, so different, yet the same. 

They had always been this way, so close in age they might as well be twins, raised as one. Though Aegon could remember many times people around him tried to cause suspicion in his heart towards Daeron, it never took hold. His _valonquar_ was steady by his side, loyal and true. Their father had warned them about the future, that dark times may come, when he and Daeron should hold the Realm in one piece to face it. Aegon had no doubts that if they were together, it could be done.

"I will not let you stumble."

Daeron smiled more serenely than he had since returning, and was about to answer when Ser Gerold Hightower entered the garden near the godswood, where the princes frequently liked to go. The old Lord Commander had stepped down from his position in favor of Ser Arthur, but still refused to stop serving, even when they all asked him to. The White Bull only ever said that his oath was meant for a lifetime.

"Your Graces. You must come with me, for Princess Daenerys' retinue approaches Aegon's Hill. His Grace, your father, wishes to receive her at the gates."

Aegon's heart pounded in anxiety at the words. He wished to be reunited with Dany almost as much as Daeron, yet was nervous to see her companions. He had showed confidence to his father at the Council, but as the moment neared, the prince felt suddenly worried he was not up for the task.

Daeron was already walking towards the knight, and so he followed, a little less eager. He tried to use the time to take in deep breaths, which would have been easier if his brother was not almost running. It amused him and Ser Gerold to see it.

Soon, they had reached their father, standing near the Keep's main entrance with Ser Arthur and Ser Jaime close. Aegon felt slightly more at ease to know the King would also be there in this first moment. It was rather unnusual for the Protector of the Realm to receive anyone in such fashion, but it was Dany and a long time had passed since they had all been together. 

"Are you nervous?" Rhaegar asked, a hand on Aegon's shoulder.

_It seems I have failed pretty quickly in looking calm._

"I will be fine." Aegon insisted either way. His father did not look convinced.

"You do not have to do this. I intend on offering other things to the Tyrells. Marriage should not have to be our answer to every problem."

"I appreciate it, father. But there is nothing that is as good as making Lady Margaery queen, and we know it."

The King let out a displeased, most rude sound, that would have made his son laugh in any other situation. 

"This discussion is not over." 

Aegon accepted it with a nod, and moved to stand at Rhaegar's right side, Daeron taking the left. The brothers exchanged reassuring smiles, even though both were piles of nerves, for entirely different reasons. 

"Try not to break with nervousness, Daeron." Their father quipped in good humor, only making his brother blush harder. 

As the gates opened and the column of men approached, Aegon could not help a large smile. Of course Daenerys was atop a horse, ahead of them all, black breeches and shiny boots, looking as the Valyrian warrior princess she was, with her silver hair tucked away in a riding braid. He could see her violet eyes shining even with the distance between them.

It was as if a piece of him had returned. The prince now needed only Rhaenys, and he would be whole again. There was something about being surrounded by family that made the young dragon feel invencible. When his mother was visiting, or they were with her in Dorne, it was all the more special. He always hurt for their great uncle Aemon at the Wall. If they could choose, he would be the Grand Maester serving at King's Landing. 

Soon, his aunt was jumping gracefully from her mount, and all but running straight into Rhaegar's arms. His father laughed and the sound made the world feel right. Dany was strong, but small, and so as the King enveloped her, she almost vanished under his blood red cloak. 

"I have missed you so, sister." 

"So did I, Rhaegar. I am so happy to be home."

Daenerys turned, still hugging her older brother, and extended her hand towards Aegon.

"Egg, have you grown even more while I was away?"

He held her hand and pulled her into his arms, for their own hug. Aegon let his cheek rest atop Dany's head for a moment, their silver hair falling together.

"Perhaps you are the one getting smaller."

She chuckled while stepping back, and turned towards Daeron. Aegon felt pain for them. He knew they wanted to kiss, to hold each other, yet they seemed stuck into place. Almost as if unsure, Dany went to stand in front of her love, and he took her hand. Aegon feared they would not speak, but then his brother rested his other hand at the back of Daenerys' neck, and they hugged quietly, whispering. 

Rhaegar watched them with melancholy. 

The four Targaryens had been so lost in their reunion, they failed to notice the Tyrells standing at a safe distance, with Ser Barristan still by their side. 

Aegon was the first to remember, and he turned towards them. The two were beautiful, there was no question. Lady Margaery even more so. Regardless, the prince was no green boy. He showed the siblings his most gracious smile. _I am the prince of Dragonstone and this is my home_. 

Taking a step forwards, he acknowledged both. They moved closer, and Lady Margaery gave him a smile to rival his own.

"Ser Loras, Lady Margaery. Welcome to the Red Keep."

They bowed. Perfectly, of fucking course. 

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace." Margaery's voice was animated music. 

"Was your trip too exhausting?"

"Not at all, Your Grace." Ser Loras responded this time. "Princess Daenerys was a most agreeable company."

"Yet a poorly educated one, clearly." Dany was standing by Aegon's side suddenly, flushed and happy. "My apologies, my Lord, my Lady. This is my nephew, Crown Prince Aegon. And may I present you my brother King Rhaegar, and Prince Daeron."

They moved along with the niceties that were demanded, and Aegon grew wary. He had expected a pretty, albeit clueless Lady, yet was confronted with a cunning way to match his. It made her all the more interesting, but terrible to control. 

"Perhaps you could show us the gardens, Your Grace?" Margaery asked him, head turning delicately, the image of purity only offset by her knowing eyes. 

It was the first time in his life that ruling felt more as a trap than an elaborate game, but Aegon was not about to lose. 

Everything about the prince dripped with charm as he held out his arm for the young rose. 

"It would be my delight, my Lady."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all enjoy Aegon, because he's been really fun to write


	7. VII. Daeron

# VII. Daeron

He wondered if it was possible to die from anxiety alone. They had walked around with the Tyrells, and spoke about the varied void subjects that were bound to come up when highborns met, all while Lady Margaery and his brother seemed to be exerting every ounce of their considerable charms to out wit each other. 

It would be quite funny had he been feeling lighter. Even while they ate, there was a tension between Lady Margaery and Aegon, underlined with the most strange feeling Daeron had ever witnessed two people share upon first meeting. 

The way his father was staring at the situation, as if he could barely begin to decide what to make of it, was almost enough to crack the prince’s mask. 

Instead, Daeron had spent almost all of his time stealing glances at Daenerys. He did not know if she had changed, or his memory failed, but she seemed even more radiant than he pictured her during their time apart. 

Many times her eyes would find his, and she would smile shyly. _Was she shy before? Had something changed?_

This was not his strong suit. Robb or Aegon were always better with women. Daeron knew only Daenerys, had experience only in making her happy. Yet the distance made him insecure of his abilities to do that. 

When they saw each other at first, it had been almost uncomfortable. There was so much he wished to say all at once, but between so many eyes and her beautiful face, Daeron was left with nothing. It happened often, and he hoped desperately that Dany remembered that about him. He was a man of action, not of words. 

The conversation with Ser Jaime was not helping either. Daeron paced his chambers, unsure of whether or not he should go to hers. Before, it would have been easy. It had been some time since he had actually slept regularly in his own bed. 

It was getting late quickly, and Daeron decided to stop brooding. That would have been Aegon’s advice, after all. The only way to know was asking Dany. 

He tried to be quiet. The Red Keep was actually smaller than Winterfell, and Daenerys’ chambers not so far from his. He figured it was the best time, with Viserys still away at Dragonstone. Daeron wished his uncle would simply stay there, so they could try and be normal with each other again.

The dragonwolf knocked on her door with as little hesitation as possible, so he would not lose his nerve. It opened before Daeron had completely lowered his hand, and he was pulled inside. 

It was no time until his back was against the door, Dany’s heat surrounding him. She smelled so good, felt so familiar, that he was dizzy with it.

“Gods, Daeron. What took you so long?”

Everything was close, her violet eyes searching his, her breath against his mouth. Instead of answering, Daeron kissed her firmly, hands going to her waist to ensure Dany would stay. She moaned as they kissed, and suddenly all of his worries seemed pure madness. 

“I missed you every day.” Daeron told her finally. “There is no one else in the world for me, Dany.”

She made a strangled sound against his mouth and his blood boiled over. Her small hands already expertly tugging at the buckles and laces of his clothes. 

“I was so afraid you would change.” Daenerys confessed as he kissed down her throat. “That perhaps you would find someone else. Lady Sansa, maybe.”

Daeron paused, looking up until he found her face. She was breathing hard already, confused as to why he stopped. 

“Sansa? Why would you think that?”

“Why not? She is a wolf of the Starks, and very pretty.”

The idea that his love had worried about such a thing made him fierce. 

“She is a fish I could snap in my jaws. And there is no woman prettier than you. Why would I want even a wolf when I could have a dragon?”

Dany smiled slowly. That predatory smile of hers that was reserved to moments such as these, and that never failed to make even the hairs in his body stand in attention to her every move. 

“Well then, you should take your dragon, nephew.”

That was the most forbidden of words, yet he felt invariably aroused. Perhaps Daeron was a terrible person because of it, although he could not find the energy necessary to be truly bothered. 

Their mouths collided again, and with that, a new wave of desperation came. It had been so many moons before, when he ravished her body in this very room, by the hearth, trying somehow to brace themselves for their separation. Now, Daeron wished to welcome her home in the best way he knew. 

Clothes were being tossed in every direction as they tried to never break contact. When Dany’s dainty hand found his cock, he could have sworn his knees weakened, and she all but growled. 

“I missed your taste, love.”

That was all the warning Daeron had before she was kneeling before him, tongue immediately running up his length, before he felt the heat of Daenerys’ mouth. In the low light of her chambers, he could make out her beautiful naked form. The prince was quite positive most highborn women did not do such a thing, and he thanked every god he could think of when running his hand through her silver hair, the fire threatening to break his body while he let his head fall against the wood.

“Fuck, please. Stop. Stop.”

Daeron was used to having a lot of self control, but it had been such a long time, Dany could probably end him just there, by the bloody door. She let go with a wet sound that drove him mad. 

He gave her no time to look up with that delicious smile, raising her body by the top of her arms, until Daenerys’ legs involved his waist, hands pulling at his dark hair as she kissed him again, bitting, demanding and the most lovely creature Daeron had ever seen. 

As familiar with her chambers as with his own, he walked them towards the bed, finding her wet entrance before laying Dany down, making her squirm in his arms, trying to silence her wanton moans against her lover’s neck. She was usually louder than him, but that night, both could hardly keep silent. 

Daeron thought of many things at once: of tasting her himself, of staring at her body sprawled over the bed until she begged. Quickly, he realized there was no time for any of that. So he lowered his dragon, covering her body with his, and found his way inside her with no preamble. 

Dany covered her own mouth as she screamed, and the two trembled at being so close again, everything they had been craving for so long. Daeron kept still, kissing her eagerly, trying to remain calm. The feeling was the most overwhelming one the prince knew. It was as if it all fell into place, and he belonged so profoundly to Daenerys, he was afraid of the very lengths he would go to meet her every desire. 

Her arms and legs caged Daeron in place, and he held her close, allowing as little space as possible. The princess raised her head so that their lips touched, looking so disheveled yet so perfect.

“Fuck me, Daeron.”

He needed no further incentive, rocking into her body at a vigorous pace immediately, covering her mouth in a searing kiss, so they could scream for each other. Dany’s body emanated such intense heat at all times, but it was specially hot inside her, where Daeron felt most alive. 

She was tightening around him fast, moaning and thashing in his hold, and he desperately wanted to wreck her, ruin her for anyone else. 

“ _Ñuhon_.” He demanded possessively, while lowering one of his hands towards her cunt, willing Dany to lose all sense of space for him.

“Daeron. Daeron. _Aōhon. Avy jorrāelan._ “ She struggled not to scream at the top of her lungs, as her body completely gave in, encasing her lover so closely he could hold out no longer, biting into Dany’s shoulder to try and stay quiet. 

The two remained that way, their heavy breathing and fast hearts filling their ears so loudly it was as if no one else existed. Daeron felt as Dany’s fingers rested in his hair again, playing with the curls. He wished to stay inside her forever, and forget about everything. 

“ _Avy jorrāelan_ , my sweet.” He answered then, kissing her brow lightly. 

Daeron took the moment to pull away from Daenerys as gently as possible, yet she still shook at the loss. 

“Did I hurt you?”

His hand found the apex of her tights again, simply holding her in the most intimate of ways, reacquainted with her body once more, confident in their bond. Dany let out a satisfied breath, and Daeron watched as she shivered. 

“It had been so long, Daeron. But I wanted to feel you too much. I will be fine.” 

The dragonwolf kissed her slowly, both feeling the softness of their love after the urgency of their bodies. 

“For all your talk of Sansa, perhaps I should have been worried about Ser Loras.” Daeron teased. 

She laughed quietly, and by all the gods, he could kill for that sound.

“You have nothing to worry about, my wolf. There is no one else for me either.”

He kissed Dany’s whole face then, quickly. Her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids. Now that she was back, truly, Daeron was strong again. And as she giggled as when they were children, he felt confident that this was where they belonged. 

Slowly, he rested his head on her chest, where he could hear the steady drum of her heart, as they looked at the flames. There, in the nest of fire, were their dragon eggs. Daeron had started to put his next to Dany’s some time ago, and other times, both eggs would stay inside his hearth instead. 

There was just something special about the eggs in a pair. Dany’s was pitch black, with red patterns, while his was the opposite, shining a jewel red that he could spot clearly in the flames. 

“Did you notice how Aegon and Lady Margaery were acting?” Daenerys asked him suddenly. “It almost felt as rivalry.”

“Rivalry. Maybe that was the feeling I could not place before. How in the Seven Hells are they going to marry if they want to be at each other’s throats?” 

“It was not just rivalry. There was something else. And stranger unions have happened.”

“Ones such as ours?” Daeron raised his head, to wiggle his eyebrows playfully. He could not remember the last time he had been in such a fine mood. Probably over three moons ago.

“Yes. One exactly as ours.”

He could not resist Dany’s red lips, swollen from their intense kissing, so he did not even try. Soon enough they were moving together another time, and it was Daeron’s turn to smile sardonically, as he took his place between her tights and her head fell back, as soon as his tongue found her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for our High Valyrian lesson: 
> 
> Ñuhon - Mine  
> Aōhon - Yours  
> Avy jorrāelan - I love you
> 
> Also, since someone told me the voices for the characters felt very distinct, I wanted to share some songs from the GoT soundtrack that, to me, really sum up a lot of them, and help me get in the right headspace, as we go through the POVs.
> 
> Daeron's theme would be Season 6 "Bastard". Though the name doesn't fit here, it is a really nice mix of the musical cues reserved for Houses Targaryen and Stark, and the White Walkers. 
> 
> And since this is the real reunion chapter, Dany & Daeron's themes would be Season 6 "Blood of my Blood" and Season 8 "Stay a Thousand Years".


	8. VIII. Stannis

# VIII. Stannis

He was a man that appreciated justice. As such, the eldest Baratheon believed he should be dead. After all, Stannis had taken arms against his King as much as Robert, and could not be trusted. Yet King Rhaegar had showed him mercy. 

Mercy must have been a rather strange concept to the Dragon King, for Stannis did not see it in his situation. Rhaegar’s mercy meant confining him to a small patch of land at the south border of the Stormlands, so close to Dorne he might as well had been moved there, and reducing House Baratheon to a mere house of landed knights. It meant being left in such land with his brother Renly, and his wife and daughter, while Jon Connington, of all people, sat at Storm’s End. 

And to make his humiliation worse, it meant the constant patrols the dornish would send to meddle in his affairs, making Stannis little more than Prince Doran’s prisoner. 

Death seemed a much kinder destiny. 

When Robert fell on the Trident, he had just managed to finally set sail to take Dragonstone. But as their forces scattered in the aftermath, and disorder only grew worse as Lord Stark received news of his sister, Stannis was forced to turn back. Robert was what kept the men united, and their military superiority had come from his brother’s ingenious mind for warfare. Stannis could not replace him. 

The Tyrells, who had been rather shy loyalists up until that point, suddenly grew vigorous in their support of Rhaegar, as if they could smell victory in the changing winds, as well as the Greyjoys, who decided to join the Targaryen forces after Robert fell. The Lannisters, who had marched to King’s Landing, in spite of never having answered calls to arms before, simply held their ground, waiting to see what would happen. 

They did not have to wait long, for the news of Robert’s ultimate loss spread quickly, as well as of the marriage of Lady Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar, who, at this point, was met with little to no opposition as he kept a steady march towards the Crown Lands, regardless of the wounds he had sustained at the Ford. 

When Rhaegar arrived, Ser Jaime Lannister had already earned his infamous moniker, and only to the new king, did they open the gates, when the Lannisters finally entered as well, as if it was always their intent. 

In due time, Stannis found himself before the Iron Throne, with Lord Jon Arryn and Lord Hoster Tully for company, so they could bend the knee. Lord Stark had not returned at all, for his sister was in Dorne with the Martells, with child, and he was by her side. Stannis knew his brother would tremble in rage if he had known that Lyanna was so close all the time.

Truthfully, he was not sure if the Rebellion had started solely for Lyanna, or if early on Robert understood that the right turn of events could make him king, and that started to supersede most other things as time passed. Not that it mattered any longer.

Stannis could never forget that day. Rhaegar sat atop the jagged mountain of swords as if he had always been there, as sharp as the blades that made up his hard earned prize. Princess Elia Martell stood by the throne, and her presence aggravated him, because he realized then and there that the dornish had always known more than any of them.

Rhaegar dispensed judgement immediately, and while House Baratheon had taken the brunt of the King’s punishment, the others were met with somewhat mild requirements in comparison. 

House Arryn was stripped of their position as Wardens of the East, though they had been restored in the last 6 years, and made to pay heavy taxes, to assist the Crown in repairing the war torn lands. Houses Stark and Tully were also punished with hefty taxation for the same reason.

Yet by the end, Rhaegar had descended the iron steps, and Stannis could tell he had a limp, that made his walk falter slightly, something that must had been Robert's doing. He had never been more shocked as when hearing a King of the Seven Kingdoms apologize. For Lord Rickard, and his son Brandon. For taking Lyanna carelessly. For not stopping the Mad King sooner. All reasons why Rhaegar decided to not punish them further, even as he could not trust any of them as a new King. 

Stannis was not sure he could ever believe Aerys' offspring, but he was in no true position to oppose Rhaegar either.

As it was, the situation tested his limits as no other. As much pride as he took in being honorable, the stag had difficulty remaining in this position when it was so lowly.

Renly was still galavanting around, letting the Tyrell boy have his ears. He knew what they were thinking: strike Rhaegar one more time, and he would finally fall. It was utter nonsense. 

While the Lords of Highgarden liked to put on airs, and all sorts of trappings of nobility that Stannis despised, they had one key aspect in common with the most savage of horselords raping and pillaging beyond the Narrow Sea: they followed only strength and victory, and Rhaegar had that to show in abundance, so the roses would stay by him. 

He knew that the stormlords were still hard for the Targaryens to control, and they might even answer his call if he was daring enough. Yet the Baratheons had been defeated in the field, and Stannis found that Rhaegar held power twice over, by birth and by conquest. 

So he simply continued to stare at the Dornish Sea, bound in every way.

“My Lord, we have received a raven.”

Ser Davos still insisted in calling him a lord. He insisted in being with Stannis in general, which was something he did not fully understand. After all, he had taken a considerable amount of fingers from the smuggler, and now, was unable to help him meaningfully. 

Stannis was not interested, but something about Ser Davos’ tone made him take the scroll. 

It was sealed with the crimson lion of House Lannister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard one. So many details. On the bright side, Stannis The Mannis is in the building, folks :)


	9. IX. Rhaenys

# IX. Rhaenys

There was nothing that came close to being home. She had known it in concept, but the last moons had been the first time in her life the princess was truly away, among people who were not friends. 

Seated inside her father’s personal study, Rhaenys could see King’s Landing sprawling with life from the window. She loved walking around in the city, listening to storys and songs and too many conversations to fully register. To see the glass gardens King Rhaegar had built, and the fountains of water. 

“Good morning, sister.” Aegon was the first to enter in the early morning, and he looked disheveled. 

“Have you been up all night?”

The night before, her father had held quite the feast to celebrate the arrival  
of his eldest child, and it was truly rather late when they all saw fit to rest. Aegon, however, looked terrible, silver hair out of control and dark patches under his eyes. 

“I took my cues from Daeron and brooded for hours.”

Her younger brother flopped in the chair by her side, with no grace, and as it was very unlike Aegon to behave that way, Rhaenys laughed. 

“And what has been worrying you so?”

“Everything. We will discuss it soon enough, probably.”

The answer was unsettling, but Rhaenys decided against lingering on it. She would worry when time came.

“You should leave these things for Daeron, he is so much prettier while brooding than you can ever hope to be.”

Egg rewarded her by laughing then, even if it was a tired sound, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek. 

“We should break our fast by ourselves, since every one else is so bloody late.” Aegon suggested, looking at the full table. 

This was how their father usually chose to discuss their issues as a family: over plenty of food. 

As she started to reply, the door opened again, and Daeron and Daenerys entered, hand in hand. Usually, she would tease them for it, but it saddened the princess that the reason they felt so free was because Viserys was not there. Rhaenys wanted to go back to the time when they were united, but had not hatched a plan to achieve it just yet. 

Daeron had been cheery all the time since she laid eyes on him the day before, and the reason was obvious. He even had opted for the bright red of their House, instead of the blacks he would wear constantly. Meanwhile, Dany glided by his side, hair reaching her waist, in a white flowing dress in the Dornish style that Rhaenys herself tended to favor, two silver pins in the shape of three headed dragons on each of her shoulders. 

The two went around the table, greeting Aegon and Rhaenys. 

“I am glad you are back, sister.” Daeron told her as they hugged.

Rhaenys and Daeron understood each other well. Royalty they were, yet as the two did not possess the Valyrian looks the Targaryens were infamous for, were always perceived as somehow less than Aegon. “The half breed dragons”, Viserys called them, and it took quite a lot of control not to punch him whenever he would say it. 

Perhaps she had it a little easier, since her eyes were the exact same shade as her father’s, although she would also hear the rumors of what the Mad King had said - _smells dornish_. As if meant to offend her.

It did not. She was Princess Rhaenys, of Houses Targaryen and Martell, the blood of the Rhoynar and of Old Valyria. She was descended of Aegon, the Conqueror and Queen Nymeria of Sunspear. And she worn it with pride. 

Rhaegar entered their gathering then, the “Even Smaller Council”, as Rhaenys had coined it. From the real Small Council, only Ser Arthur was allowed.

“Good morning, my sweetlings.”

Her father seated at the head of the table, and Ser Arthur took his left side. The king’s smile was warm, and Rhaenys knew it was because he was relieved to see them together. 

“Shall we begin?”

Each of them took turns relaying their experiences with the families they visited. As expected, the North was the easiest Kingdom. Interestingly, the marriage between Rhaegar and Lyanna had not tied the largest region of Westeros to the Iron Throne quite as much as it had made her father even more dependent on House Martell. 

After all, they had held Princess Lyanna for leverage almost as much as King Aerys had with Princess Elia and her children, and many concessions had to be made to ensure the Martells would accept such a change in affairs. 

The most important one was that any child Lyanna had, male or female, would come after Elia’s own children in line of succession, which guaranteed Rhaenys had precedence over Daeron.

Neither she nor her brother truly cared. What the siblings really wanted was for Aegon to be king, not only because he was best suited for it, but mostly because if either of them ever ascended the Throne, it would mean they had lost Aegon, and that could not happen. Rhaenys and Daeron would make sure of it, with their very hands, if necessary. 

“All in all, no matter how proud the lords of the North are, they would not truly threaten me. And House Stark is loyal to House Targaryen as I am loyal to my brother.” Daeron finished. 

“What about the Eyrie, Rhaenys?”

“While House Arryn is not exactly drinking to our health, they do not seem particularly keen on changing anything either. I would say Lord Jon is ten times more worried about his wife and child than about us.”

“Worried?” Daenerys frowned. “Why?”

“Lady Lysa had quite a lot of trouble bearing children over the years. And now that she has a son, the boy is as meek as a dying cat. And she feeds him from her breast, even though Robyn can walk and talk.”

Her family made equally disturbed expressions at the description, making her chuckle. 

“Believe me, very few things are quite as strange as seeing it in person. And I would say that, by the end of my time there, I grew rather fond of Lord Jon. He is a fine man, in spite of everything.”

“Sounds like progress to me, and that is all I’m interested in, these days.” Ser Arthur concluded.

By far, Dany had the best yet most worrisome news of all. Rhaenys met the Tyrell siblings the day before, and while they appeared lovely, she knew what their presence meant.

“Hence, my being awake all night.” Aegon told her after Daenerys had finished. “Lady Margaery worries me. I expected someone similar to Lady Sansa.”

“Yet found she is you in skirts.” Daeron said, making all but Aegon laugh. 

“I mean it. She would be using me as much as I would be using her.”

“Isn’t that the point of all arranged marriages?” Rhaenys said while grabbing some bread and fruit. 

Her brother exhaled, growing frustrated with them. 

“Yes, but I am talking about something different. She wants to maneuver me and my decisions whichever way is more convenient to House Tyrell, and with how much we truly need them, she might as well succeed.” 

The king rumbled, and Rhaenys knew what her father was about to say before he did. 

“We _do not_ need them.”

And while most people would have probably been afraid of such a tone, Aegon simply rolled his eyes.

“ _Yes, we do_. If we do not take the Tyrells now, someone else will. Winter is coming."

She was about to meddle in the conversation, but Aegon continued, in a softer tone.

"I know this is not really about the Tyrells. I understand that you have been hurt this way, and that you wish to protect me. All of you, are looking to keep me safe all the time. And I love you for it. But this is a sacrifice I am prepared to live with. I want to be a proper king one day, and ruling well means devotion to my role. We grew observing your devotion as Protector of the Realm, how much you struggle to correct your past faults. Let me solidify that work once and for all. You are not forcing me to marry, I am willing. Allow me, my king."

Rhaenys felt as if they all stopped breathing.

"I was the same. Once, I went out of my way to be the best prince possible. And a fine king one day. I am simply afraid you might lose yourself along the path."

Her brother never looked so tender. So loving. 

"I am not you, father."

"Yes. I can see that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys’ theme is season 5 “Blood of the Dragon”
> 
> For the Targaryens, Season 7 “Shall We Begin?” and “Dragonstone”, and Season 6 “The Winds of Winter”


	10. X. Viserys

# X. Viserys

Rhaegar must have been mocking him by making Viserys stay at Dragonstone. While the others were sent to the Great Houses, he had been confined in the island, and subjected to the demands of the people who lived there.

Mocked and robbed, that was how he felt. He, Daenerys and Rhaegar were the last true Targaryens, born of King Aerys and his sister-wife Rhaella, as a true dragon should be. 

Yet Rhaegar had taken what belonged to Viserys, and distributed between his half breed sons. 

As if it was not enough to give the Iron Throne to the Martell brat, Rhaegar allowed Daenerys to waste her heritage, and act as a common whore with the Stark imposter. For neither of them truly belonged to House Targaryen, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with lesser men. 

And the worst part, was that Rhaegar carried himself as if this was his right. As if he wasn’t the one who brought their House to the point where they were almost as extinct as the dragonlords from whom they descended. 

When sending Viserys, he had said he wanted the prince to have “true experience” with command, as the only Targaryen currently occupying their ancestral seat. That sounded as a fucking excuse.

The only thing he enjoyed about the castle was exactly that: being the only one there. The prince of Dragonstone, as he was supposed to be.

However, by the end of his time, Viserys was more than ready to return. 

The servants were rushing to prepare their prince to leave, and so Viserys wandered the ancient, magical castle, directionless at first, but then going to his favorite place there, the Painted Table at the top of the Stone Drum tower. 

From there, he could see everything. Not just in the table, but also from the windows surrounding it, where the prince could look out to the sea, feeling the salty air of Dragonstone. 

The place where Aegon and his sisters had planned their taking of Westeros. Where their House was truly born, and from where they had made the fighting, petty kingdoms into one glorious entity. In this place, Viserys could feel their greatness.

The prince leaned against one of the windows, looking out. He was tall, though not as much as Rhaegar, and his silver hair lightly brushed his face as the winds passed, making Viserys feel calm. It was not a feeling he frequently had, as he was always so feverish. 

_Maybe if Rhaegar was not so unfair, I wouldn’t feel this way._

Viserys remembered a time when he was not so angry. When he was about nine or ten, Rhaegar gave him his very own dragon egg: a silver beauty, that glinted in the light. It had belonged to his brother for years, and he had decided to give such a precious thing anyway, because they were brothers. Because they loved each other. He really thought they did.

There were other things as well. Rhaenys. Running with her through the many passageways underneath the Red Keep, finding hidden chambers and objects people had all but forgotten about. She had a black cat named Balerion, and they would pretend to be great Targaryens of old, ready to conquer Rhaegar’s study atop their feline companion.

And Daenerys. How she reminded him of their mother. The best of memories. So he would tell her stories. About their House and about Westeros. Viserys adored how her amethyst eyes would shine with wonder at all the tales he had for her. 

But as the lesser boys grew, somehow they had started to take more and more from him. Aegon looked like the one with the strongest blood, the one most similar to himself and his siblings. Yet the son of Elia was not worthy. And the Stark runt even less so. 

Because Elia was weak, she could not give Rhaegar more children. And so his brother had went after the northern wench, and that had ruined everything. And now their offspring walked around the Red Keep, full of rights. 

They displayed the sigils of their mothers right by the three headed dragon of House Targaryen as if they were comparable. Aegon went to Small Council meetings and acted as a diligent esquire after his father. Daeron swirled his sword around and fucked Daenerys as the untrustworthy cunt he was. 

And Rhaenys, whom Viserys loved once. Dornish appearance, dornish dresses, dornish spear by her side, taking lessons from the Viper, when Elia would visit and behave as the Queen, even though she had not fulfilled her duties to Rhaegar. 

A disgrace.

Viserys prepared to leave the Painted Table, when something in the shore caught his eyes. Red. A spot of red coming in a horse, moving towards his castle in a confident line.

There was something so strange about it all. He probably should pretend to be gone already if it was another one of the poor bastards that lived in the island and would ask for conferences with him, yet he was stuck in place, watching, as the rider approached the gates.

Taken over by a sudden curiosity, Viserys decided to descend the tower. By the time he had finally reached the Great Hall, a guard was coming towards the prince, running.

“Your Grace. There is a woman at our gates. She declares herself a Red Priestess of R’hllor, and said she came all this way to meet Azor Ahai.”

“Did she tell you her name?”

“Said she would tell only the Prince Who Was Promised, that lived inside these walls.”

A shiver went down Viserys’ spine. It seemed he would not be returning that day. 

“Then I will meet her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viserys' theme is Season 5 "Dance of Dragons"


	11. XI. Jeor

# XI. Jeor

The Lord Commander supposed he should be thankful. In the end, he was the first Commander of the Night’s Watch in many generations to have enough men to occupy ten of the nineteen strongholds that the Wall featured. 

Moreover, Lord Mormont was also lucky enough to not lead solely a band of criminals and farm boys, although the amount of both was still unfortunate. King Rhaegar Targaryen, for reasons only the Gods could fathom, took an inordinate amount of interest in the Night’s Watch, and while he worried that maybe the Dragon King was growing into some sort of paranoid madness, he still did not have enough reason to truly complain. 

The signs showed early on. A mere couple of years had passed since Jeor Mormont became Lord Commander when the King made a visit to Castle Black. The first Targaryen to set foot there ever since Queen Alysanne, the days of his stay had been stressful to Jeor and his men. 

While Rhaegar seemed fine enough, and acted perfectly normal, the Wall was no place for a King, and the lads seemed struck dumb whenever the man did so much as speak to them. None of them ever expected to even see a King from a distance, let alone sit in the same hall as him for supper. 

Maester Aemon’s presence, as usual, had been paramount. Both Targaryens seemed rather fond of each other, and happy to be together, lamenting over the impracticality of bringing the five little dragons along, that had remained in Winterfell. 

He almost laughed thinking on how to deal with small princes and princesses running around his training yard. 

The King had clearly traveled all that way to access the conditions of the Night’s Watch, which were less than exemplary at that point. 

He had gone to the top of the Wall, and beyond it, to the weirwood trees, where Jeor, Benjen Stark and Ser Arthur Dayne stood in awkward silence while Rhaegar seemed to pray to the Old Gods. 

_What a strange man._

Regardless, ever since, the King kept regular communication, and assisted them where he could. Renovations, money, food, and incentives offered across Westeros to young men and their families, so they would join the brotherhood. 

The Lord Commander could only assume that the threat of the Wildlings worried His Grace. It worried him as well. Their raids had grown in frequency over the years, and the so called King Beyond the Wall seemed to have organized that ruthless folk somehow. 

The fact that Rhaegar seemed to care so much, and had always been gentle, was what made Jeor think he needed to give the King bad news. His First Ranger, Benjen Stark, had been missing for far too long, and he was afraid that the worst had happened. 

Even more troubling was the fact that he had already sent Benjen to look after another set of brothers who had not returned, and earlier that day, they found the body of one of the men who had gone with the Ranger, at the base of the Wall. 

It seemed strange, frozen over, so they had brought it inside, to try and understand how the brother had died, and bury him properly.

It troubled him so because it was a personal message as much as one about the state of the Night’s Watch, since Benjen was Lyanna Stark’s younger brother, and as such, part of the King’s rather _mismatched_ family.

Jeor had been atop of the Wall, trying to see something in the distance. The nights were growing colder, and he needed no maester to say that summer was ending. 

At last, even if it was so late, he decided to take Maester Aemon’s council. Perhaps he wanted to be the one to tell his nephew. Or maybe he was being precipitated, and Benjen was fine. The Lord Commander hoped for the later.

As the Old Bear started to make his way to the library, where the Maester was most frequently, he suddenly heard shouting. 

Hurriedly, he looked down at the yard. Men screaming and moving as ants on a fire, demanding weapons. Jeor went to the cage immediately, mind running ahead of him, trying to understand what was wrong. He cursed as the bloody thing descended slowly. 

Once down, he tried to move to the center of the crisis, the men pushing him around in their hurry. 

“What is going on?” He screamed at them.

“The man we brought! He’s alive!” A young boy with copper hair that had arrived a few weeks earlier replied. 

That answer wouldn’t do. The Lord Commander had seen it himself, he was dead. 

“Boy, don’t be daft! _What’s going on?_ ”

Suddenly, his senses were attacked all at once. A terrible scent, sweet sickly cold, coming on his nose, and the most terrible sound, inhumane, moving towards him from the narrow passageway that lead inside the Lord Commander’s Tower. 

Jeor could only turn and look, as two eyes of the most piercing blue were upon him, a sight so terrible he felt stuck in place. One of his men yanked him by the cloak, mere seconds before the thing could sink its teeth into his face.

They drew swords, the shouting growing, as they tried to form somewhat of a circle around it. The weapons didn’t work, because the thing that once had been their brother didn’t seem to feel at all, and the men would scatter even more as they noticed it too. If the damn thing wasn’t slow, they’d be dead. _If there were thousands of this..._

He was Lord Commander. He needed to think. Anything. 

Out of nowhere, with a desperate shout, one of the new recruits, the fat Tarly lad, tossed a torch onto the animated corpse. It caught on fire immediately, as if meant for burning, the most shrill sound the Lord Commander ever heard coming from the thing. 

They just stood there, the black brothers staring at the enourmous pyre that they created, a thick silence falling over them while the fire cracked.

His raven, a huge black creature, flew over their heads in a circle a few times, until it landed on one of railings above, clever eyes piercing. Until it said:

_Burn!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar has a modern family, he confuses people 😂
> 
> Also, so hard not to write “Quoth the Raven - Nevermore” (if you know you know)


	12. XII. Daenerys

# XII. Daenerys

Training in arms was not her favorite activity. Yet, as Rhaegar insisted they should all be good enough to defend themselves, she took to it with the same ambition Daenerys did everything else, because she hated failing. 

Her favorite weapons were daggers. She lost a lot in range, but it was always where her lithe, small body and quick feet would shine the most. Rhaegar had gifted her a Valyrian steel dagger for her nameday some years prior, and Dany had carried it with her almost all the time ever since. 

Though, that day, she and Rhaenys were training with spears. It was her niece’s chosen form of combat, and Daenerys tried to be at least decent at it. Ser Jaime was overseeing them, even if there was not much he could say. He was a swordsman first, and Rhaenys was as good a student as she was a teacher. But Daenerys enjoyed his presence regardless. 

After Rhaenys had cut her for the seventh time, Dany figured it was quite enough.

"For what's worth, you really hung in there." Ser Jaime offered, lightly clasping her shoulder.

It made the princess laugh.

"In the real world, I would have almost survived then."

"In the real world, you kill them with your chamber pot if necessary." Rhaenys said, only half joking, waving a finger at Dany.

She hoped that such a scenario would never present itself. 

“Do forgive me, Your Graces.” Lady Margaery’s sudden voice made her jump slightly. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but I could not refrain from watching. It is such an impressive sight, the princesses of Westeros in this way!”

Daenerys could see through Margaery most of the time, and her flattery. But even knowing it was not enough on occasion, and the Lady’s words would have their desired effect on her. 

Her niece recovered faster, and smiled calmly. Daenerys had to admit that at least Rhaenys, indeed, was a sight. Tall as Rhaegar, long brown hair tied on a braid, and her sparkling indigo eyes, with that massive spear of hers stuck on the ground before her, looking every inch the Dornish warrior.

“A princess that could kill a man as gracefully as she would dance with him is something Westeros could use more of, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lady Margaery did not seem threatened at all, still smiling as brightly as before. Just as Dany expected of her.

“Yes, indeed. Unfortunately, my Lord Father would never allow it. You see, the Reach is only famous for its delicate roses.”

“Even roses have thorns.” Daenerys couldn’t help saying.

“My grandmother would exemplify that perfectly, Your Grace.” 

_And so would you, my Lady._

“The Queen of Thorns. Such an appropriate name for a tongue as sharp as hers. I do miss her. Is she coming to King’s Landing anytime soon?”

“She is, actually, once some things are settled.”

“And what would those things be?” Aegon’s voice came, asking exactly what Daenerys meant to. 

He was entering the courtyard, clearly having been sparing himself. Daeron followed close behind, and she tried not to stare too much. His blood red shirt was open and clinging to parts of his torso, and he looked so flushed and beautiful. She wanted to hold him, but wouldn’t dare in front of Lady Margeary. 

Daeron smiled at her, open and confident, and Dany was relieved to see that his insecurity from days before had melted into his usual unabashed ways, that she loved the most. 

“Mainly back at home. Grandmother truly is a force of nature to our family.”

Daenerys noticed that Margaery seemed to stiffen only a bit with Aegon’s arrival, her brown eyes examining him for a moment. It was something the princess had never seen her do, as if losing control of the situation in a slight, yet meaningful way. 

She had also realized that the Lady showed more skin at King’s Landing than at Highgarden, the beautiful green dress baring her shoulders and the top of her breasts. It must be a way to lure Aegon. Not that he needed any more incentives to marry Margaery.

“Women do have a way to get things to go as they want it.” Aegon replied smoothly.

“Just as men do.” Was the quick response. “One must fight with their available weapons.”

“Charm and wits are weapons available to most.”

“Yet knowing how to wield them is an art in and of itself.” 

“It is a good thing then, that I am in your gentle care in the art.”

Rhaenys’ frown was growing the more the two exchanged barbs, and Daeron and Daenerys stared at each other, worried as well. Her love was right, they looked ready to start fighting. Yet there was something sweet in their tension, and she suddenly understood. 

Aegon and Margeary were so similar, it was disconcerting to them. 

The Lady smiled brightly at her nephew, eyes shining again. 

“How about you remain in my care for the rest of the day, Your Grace? I was wondering if you liked riding horses.”

“Of course. Rumor has it that you are a skilled rider, my Lady.”

“I am, if I do say so myself. Let me prove the song of your little birds correct.”

Aegon smiled then, and as someone who knew him well, Dany noticed it was genuine. Maybe arguing with Margaery was not as bad of a sign as they thought. 

“Go ahead, I’ll let father know later.” Daeron told his brother, probably seeing the same thing Dany did. 

The two dismissed themselves, with Ser Jaime deciding to go with his prince, and she had to admit that they looked the part of a King and Queen. 

“Well, Seven Hells, he is right.” Rhaenys said when they were out of sight. “It’s hard to tell who has the most control.”

“It would seem it changes every time one of them opens their mouth.” Daeron was not far off.

“Do you find it strange that Viserys has not returned yet?” Rhaenys asked suddenly, in a low tone. “I know it’s easier when he is not around, but still. Something seems wrong.”

Dany thought so too. As much as she loved the freedom it gave her, it also created a worry that seemed to accumulate in the air around their family. 

“We could send someone. Dragonstone is close.” She offered. “Maybe he just likes it there. We all do.”

“Maybe.” Her niece sounded far away. “Go on, you two. I know you want to.”

“Wait.” Daeron took Rhaenys’ hand. “About Viserys. I feel it as well. We can truly go there to see what is taking so long. We should try and be his family even if he does not want us.” 

His sister kissed the back of Daeron’s hand gently, but turned away without a true response. And so the two of them walked in silence, towards Maegor’s Holdfast, thinking about Viserys.

They went to Daeron’s chambers this time, as they tended to vary often, their eggs inside the hearth, with the fire burning low even in the afternoon. Daenerys feared the dragons would be cold without it.

Daeron moved about, still brooding. Taking off his boots, breaches and shirt, not worried if she looked or not. 

And look she did. At his broad shoulders, and narrow waist, strong legs, and the expanse of his pale skin, that Dany knew to be littered with a number of scars Daeron had picked along the years. 

Her heart constricted with the intense feeling of loving such a man. He was hers, and she was his. 

He was about to say something, probably about Rhaenys’ concerns, but Daenerys did not want to hear about Viserys or anything else, because she had the most strange sensation that they would never be as quiet as they were in that moment. Never be so light, so without burdens. 

_Never again._

So Dany took long strides towards her dragonwolf and held him tight, enjoying the vulnerability of him being so bare to her, wanting to keep him from hurting for as long as they lived. 

“I love you. No matter what. Be mine.”

Daeron took a deep breath against her neck, his lips brushing the point where Daenerys’ heart throbbed, his rough hands already inside her shirt, fingers going up and down her spine.

“Dany. I have been yours since before I knew what it meant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am with the theory that the catspaw dagger was Rhaegar’s, so here we are. 
> 
> Dany’s songs are Season 3 “Mhysa” and Season 6 “Khaleesi”
> 
> Happy new year wherever you are, people ❤️💫


	13. XIII. Rhaegar

# XIII. Rhaegar

The Dragon King wanted good news. If not for other reasons, then simply for a change of pace. 

The scrolls all around him had brought little of that. 

There was one from Elia, about strange movement among the remaining Baratheons. It made Rhaegar worry that perhaps he chosen wrong. That mercy was not the answer. He tried not to be so harsh, on Robert’s brothers and the people of the Stormlands, because he wanted to inspire trust. Because he wished that, had the situation gone differently, mercy would be shown to his own family. 

It seemed he would, after all, have to remind people of the words of House Targaryen.

Then there was the one that made Rhaegar’s heart nearly stop. 

Lord Commander Mormont started by warning that Benjen Stark had gone missing, and that in itself was already hurtful enough. Lyanna’s younger brother was her favorite, and Rhaegar felt he had to keep Benjen safe for her. Not take more from House Stark again. 

Somehow it became even worse. The Night’s Watch attacked by “a living dead man”. _Living dead_. Mormont’s word choice stuck with the King as he read the message over and over.

During the almost twenty years of his reign, although the situation was never truly easy, it felt more and more under control as time went on. As if Rhaegar had understood the fundamental manner in which he should play his role, the way one learns to read or to fight. 

The threat beyond the Wall, that he and Maester Aemon had believed in for so long, had been looming in the back of his mind over those years, and he had tried to prepare for it as well as possible. 

Yet none of that was the same as having it become a pressing reality. 

King or not, how could he tell the people of Westeros that they might be annihilated by a hord of frozen living dead creatures before Winter was through? They would deem him even more mad than his father.

He had dreamed before. Of being alone in a cold so deep Rhaegar could barely feel his own limbs, a silence that made him realize he was probably the last person to draw breath. Utter desperation caused by something the dragon could not see.

The King was also disturbed by ravens he did not receive, namely from his brother. Daeron and Rhaenys had told him their concerns over a week before, and while he had not allowed them to leave immediately to Dragonstone, he did try to speak to Viserys. He had honestly hoped the prince’s time on their ancestral seat would help his younger brother understand why each member of their family was essential, why they needed to be cohesive. Dragons did not form packs the way wolves did, but they were stronger together. It was another lost hope.

The only message left was the one with the sigil of House Stark. Rhaegar touched the direwolf reverently. _If you were here, Lya. I wouldn’t feel so lost_. He opened it, and was surprised. The good news he had been looking for, suddenly there. The King could expect the arrival of Ned Stark, and his children, Sansa, Arya and Bran, and of literal direwolves. 

The last part heightened Rhaegar's interest. Direwolves were creatures of magic, different from the animals that represented most other Houses, because the Starks were ancient as well. Their presence south of the Wall, and the attack on the Night's Watch seemed to be the magic of the North rising again. Yet he had no magic of his own anymore.

The King raised from his chair, and went straight to the door of his study, head peeking out. Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold were outside, as he expected, and both seemed caught off guard by Rhaegar's antics. He did not care much; his mind was moving fast.

"Ser Oswell, where are the children?" Rhaegar knew they were all adults already, but in his eyes, they would always be his children, even his siblings.

"Princess Rhaenys, Princess Daenerys and Lady Margaery are in the city. They went to visit orphanages. Prince Aegon is in the library, and Prince Daeron is, I believe, trying to learn how to shoot arrows while on horseback."

The final one made him pause. "Excuse me?"

Ser Gerold chuckled a bit. 

"The prince has learned that even the children of the Dothraki are capable of such a feat. You know how he is, Your Grace, always challenging himself. Ser Arthur is with him, and His Grace is an excellent rider. He should be fine."

The prince was lucky his father plainly did not have the time to address that, so the King just huffed. Daeron was Lyanna's son, after all. 

"Ser Jaime?"

"Last I saw him, at the White Sword Tower, Your Grace."

"Good. Bring him and Lord Jon to me."

Ser Oswell moved to carry out the orders, and Rhaegar retreated inside his study again. He was still holding Ned Stark's message. The ideas were starting to turn on his head. Changing his Small Council was something the King always wanted, because there was only one person there he trusted completely, and that was Arthur. However, because he wanted to show some kind of permanence to his Lords before, Rhaegar never did it. 

But at that moment, he was in need of a Council meant for war. And not just any war: the kind that no man had seen since the Long Night. 

He was aware that his request would be too much for Lord Stark. That everything Rhaegar ever did in regards to House Stark was perceived by others as a favoritism towards the family of his second wife. Even so, he needed to try, for the King needed a new Hand.

In fact, he probably needed a new everything. Yet Pycelle, a choice made by the Citadel exclusively, and Varys, with his numerous connections that Rhaegar resented needing so much, were changes he could not make. So he would move all else.

Still, even with an existencial threat on the horizon, as King, Rhaegar needed to care for his more mundane issues as well.

"Your Grace?" Lord Jon's voice interrupted Rhaegar's musings.

The King studied his Hand. Lord Jon Connington was still a proud man in his older age, fiery red hair and blue eyes. He had served as well as possible, as more of a source of comfort to Rhaegar than as a politically shrewd mind. And as grateful as the dragon was, he had realized the hour came, when he needed to let go of that.

"Jon. I am thankful for your service as Hand of the King. Yet the situation has changed, and you would be most valuable to me somewhere else."

His childhood friend looked devastated. Ser Jaime stood in silence, by the door.

"How can I be useful by being away from you?"

Rhaegar understood that Jon's affection for him was deeper than friendship, even if he was never going to be able to return such feelings, for anyone, ever. After Lyanna, that part of him had bled out right by her side. 

He moved to the table, and took Elia's warnings, waving the object a bit for both men to see it.

"The Baratheons move. The patrols sent by the Martells are not enough to give me all the information. I will have need to see Lord Varys for that, it seems. For now, what I do know, is that I need my Lord Paramount of the Stormlands to actually be at Storm's End. I have chosen you because I know you, Jon. Because you are a stormlander, the only one who remained loyal to me. You can actually hold that Kingdom in my name. I need your loyalty now even more than before."

Lord Jon's shoulders went down, the fight ending in him, and he showed his hand, palm up, asking for the scroll. Rhaegar gave it.

"And who will be your new Hand?"

"It is not certain yet." It was not a lie, but not the truth either. He knew his Lord would not be pleased by the real response.

Jon sighed, and returned the message. He held his Silver King by the forearm for a moment, and Rhaegar returned the gesture, both staring intently at each other.

"I have sworn myself to you, King Rhaegar Targaryen. And I will uphold that oath."

"And I will uphold mine. To never abuse your faith, never become the very thing I set out to destroy. If I ever break this promise, you may end my life."

Rhaegar felt Ser Jaime's intense gaze upon him, and he knew the knight received those words more profoundly than most. To him, Jaime had redefined the vow of a Kingsguard. Those men were not meant to stand by while Kings killed, raped and preyed upon the people. They existed to guard the King, yes, but most importantly, to hold their monarchs to higher standards. That was one of his strongest beliefs as a ruler.

He was left alone with the youngest of his guard, and the one most scarred.

"How can I be of service, Your Grace?"

"Tell me, Ser Jaime. How is your father?"

The lion shifted his weight from one foot to another.

"Not in contact with me, really. At least not about anything that would matter to you. He says my loyalty is divided. He does not trust me ever since I refused to open the gates to him."

The King knew. Ser Jaime had killed the Mad King's pyromancers and then Aerys himself, and waited inside the Red Keep, unwilling to open the gates until Rhaegar arrived. 

Jaime was the only Kingsguard to be allowed to return to his family on occasion, because Rhaegar wanted to appease Lord Tywin in a way. When he became King, he denied the desires of House Lannister almost entirely. He refused to marry Cersei, refused to free Jaime from his vows or to accept their father in his rule in anyway. Sending Ser Jaime was a small token of good will.

"But I was going to warn you that my brother is coming, Your Grace." Ser Jaime offered his King a scroll.

Rhaegar read it quickly, frowning more and more.

"Lord Tyrion? Why would he come?" 

Ser Jaime shook his head.

"Probably for the same reason that makes you ask about my father."

The dragon smiled. Sometimes, good news did come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, heads up, I will be slowing the pace of updates. Life, you know? 
> 
> Rhaegar's theme is Season 8 "A Song of Ice and Fire"


	14. XIV. Varys

# XIV. Varys

He did not necessarily dislike the King. As far as Targaryen rulers went, each passing year seemed to solidify Rhaegar’s place among the best of them, something one could never have predicted when faced with the rather turbulent beginnings of said King.

While Rhaegar had forever changed the Realm and lost favor with the people and the Lords in a few decisive, heated moments, he had worked for long years to repair even half of that, and Varys had to admit that the acceptance and humility that the King showed when undertaking such an ungrateful labor was impressive. 

That, however, did not change the fact that Rhaegar Targaryen had two terrible flaws that were hard to overlook.

The first was obvious: he was a dragon. Not just in name, not only when he needed to make bold claims to scare his enemies. Rhaegar was a dragon in all things, which informed his straightforward and often tenacious approach to whatever he decided upon. That made him particularly hard to steer in any given direction aside from the one he chose.

So far, however, that nature had served them well. Rhaegar had started his rule with a clear vision of the future, and settled quickly on the improvements he intended. 

The first order was King’s Landing itself - the sewers, the supply of food, the spread of diseases, the occupations of the people. The years spent roaming the streets as a prince had informed Rhaegar’s understanding of the struggles of his subjects and his desires for change.

His attention had also been fixed on the Riverlands, and the consequences of war. While battles had happened in many places, the seat of House Tully, that stood in a strategic location to any conflict, and had no natural defenses, always bled the most.

The last of the King’s main worries highlighted his other fatal flaw: the Night’s Watch. Rhaegar wasted money, resources and men on that dead order made to fight monsters that only existed in stories for children. He could talk about Wildlings all he wanted, but the fact remained that His Grace was obsessed with myths, legends and magic, things the Spider could not tolerate.

Either one of these faults was undesirable, but the combination of both could prove deadly if Rhaegar ever went down a path that Varys could not admit. So he served, as long as the son of the Mad King remained loyal to his people. 

Varys was, however, quite certain that Rhaegar despised him. Again, as a dragon, subtlety was not his strong suit, with those expressive eyes. The King was earnest, and he earnestly wanted to see Varys gone. He could not say that those instincts were entirely wrong.

And because the Dragon could burn the Spider easily, his web needed to be cast long and wide, so that he was indispensable.

And here the Dragon was, needing him.

“What can you tell me of the Baratheons?”

“The youngest, Renly, seems to really be involved with one of our guests, Ser Loras. As for Stannis, report is that he is quite disillusioned with everything, and has not been very active. I would ask about someone else, Your Grace.”

A silver eyebrow arched at the cryptic words.

“I would guess you mean the Lannisters.”

“Your biggest issues, these two families. You could have ended one of them already.”

Rhaegar rubbed his forehead, leaning back on the chair. Even as an older man, he was striking. 

“I thought I should show mercy instead. Everyone was looking at me, expecting me to kill all those who betrayed the Throne. To be ruthless. Yet I could not. Because we were to blame as well. My father and me. I did not earn the right to act superior about the Rebellion.”

“You were in a hard place, my King. Any decision you made at that moment would always be partially wrong.”

“However, I do get to be ruthless now. So tell me. Who should worry me the most?”

“Tywin Lannister. My little birds tell me Lady Cersei is headed to The Reach as we speak, most likely to try and win Lord Willas. If the two richest Houses were united by marriage, then who would support House Targaryen?”

Rhaegar seemed very unimpressed.

"If they marry, all the Tyrells will have acquired is an alliance with a family that has a little more gold than they do. That is all. On the other hand, if Margaery and Aegon marry, she will be queen. No. It seems to me that what Lord Tywin really wants is to clear Casterly Rock."

"Clear it? As far as I know, no one means to attack Casterly Rock in the near future, or so I would hope."

"Right now, I do not. But if Tywin is on a path that will cross me, then one would be wise to spread the family."

"Ser Jaime is here, and Lord Tyrion comes as well. It would not be in his best interest to be at odds with the person who holds his two sons within these walls."

"Lord Tywin and I have always been at odds. He has probably given up hope that I will liberate Ser Jaime from his vows."

"Do tell me, Your Grace. Why have you refused? Many do not believe you should hold Ser Jaime in such high regards." The reason had eluded even Varys over the years.

The King smiled gently at him, as if he was missing something simple, and raised from his seat. Rhaegar tended to dress in a plain fashion, unlike his brother and sister. He walked about the study on his black boots, the red sigil of House Targaryen embroidered on his doublet. 

"In a selfish way, I wanted Ser Jaime close to me, because while Ser Arthur or Ser Oswell might love me, I am not sure they would be willing to sacrifice themselves to do right, if it meant going against me. I do not feel that I have done anything truly wrong in my time as King, but sometimes I am afraid of my nature. Ser Jaime is someone I can trust to keep me in the right direction." 

He said all that in a genuine tone that Rhaegar had never used when speaking with Varys. He must have noticed it too, because he looked away from the window he had settled on, and gave his Master of Whisperers an ironic grin.

"And then there is the fact that Ser Jaime asked to stay. I suppose I should not have told you so much."

"Your candor endears people to you, Your Grace."

"Have I endeared you to me yet, Lord Varys?"

"You have been a King worth serving. That is all I could want."

Rhaegar studied him for a while, then started pacing again. 

"What do you know of Lord Tyrion?"

"Wouldn't Ser Jaime be the best to answer such a question?" The King's query seemed to have some goal, but Varys was not clear on what it was yet.

The Dragon chuckled a bit.

"Yes. But I do not wish to push his loyalties too far. All everyone seems to say about the youngest Lannister is that he is a horrible dwarf. There must be more to a person than that, after all, Ser Jaime loves him truly."

"He is prone to drinking quite a lot. They say he is amusing, but in a way more suited to brothels, that he also adores. Above all else, however, Lord Tyrion is very smart. He is not a good fighter, clearly, and when this happens, people such as ourselves need to find other ways to be useful."

The King absorbed the information in silence. Varys knew Rhaegar disapproved of such rowdy behavior, but it did not show on his face. _Was the Dragon becoming harder to read?_

" _Winter is coming_. House Stark has the most interesting words, don't you think, my Lord? Unlike every other House, even my own, they are never wrong, for Winter is always coming. It is not a matter of 'if', rather a question of 'when'. And when it does come, as now, all changes to receive it. One does not run from Winter, for we are forced to face it."

"And what changes are we making?"

"From now on, I want your many eyes and ears close to the Baratheons and the Lannisters. I have showed kindness. Now I will bring Fire and Blood." The King was adamant. He started to turn away from Varys.

 _How does one ride a dragon that wears a crown?_ He had been trying to answer the riddle ever since King Aerys. But perhaps he was asking the wrong question. 

Perhaps one simply took the dragon out of the sky.


	15. XV. Eddard

# XV. Eddard

He never assumed he would be happy to arrive at King’s Landing. Yet probably most anything was better than being on the road with four young direwolves and three children that behaved like direwolves. The white one was the best traveling companion by far.

The awed look on the face of his children made it worth it, however. Sansa always wanted to be in the South, and Bran and Arya were simply captured by the bubbling energy of King's Landing. Ned himself was impressed. He knew of all of Rhaegar's endeavors about the city, but it was his first time seeing it. His first time there at all, ever since he bent the knee to the new King.

They were installed at the Maidenvault, and Arya could not stop jumping around.

"Father! Will they let us see the dragon skulls? Where is Daeron? We should show him the wolves, he will love to have his own. And I want to tell Princess Rhaenys about Nymeria."

He smiled at the burst of energy. While his daughter knew that only Daeron was really her cousin, Princess Daenerys and Prince Aegon also acted as cousins, and she thought of them as such. But to Arya, the slightly more distant Rhaenys was the one that captured her imagination, because his little she wolf thought the eldest princess looked just like how the Rhoynar queen would.

"You think Princess Rhaenys would want to hear your chattering?" Sansa said as she entered the solar. Their fighting seemed to get worse the farther they were from the North.

"Sansa. Stop it now. Where is Bran?" 

"Here, father." Bran came with Jory close behind.

"My Lord. I am still finishing our arrangement, but Prince Daeron is here."

"It's not a problem. Let him in."

Daeron had not changed much. It still caught Ned by surprise to see his nephew, looking so northern, but in Targaryen colors, a black and silver brocade coat, with a red sash fastened to his right shoulder by a silver circle from which the three heads of a dragon sprouted, roaring in menace. His smile was warm in contrast. 

"Welcome to King's Landing, uncle. My father has sent me to receive you and your family because..." His nephew stopped mid sentence, and looked at something behind Ned with large eyes.

Lord Stark looked as well. Two of the wolves, Nymeria and her nameless brother, had entered, standing side by side as they watched Daeron. The white wolf had grown faster than they expected, already surpassing Lady and Summer, well on his way to be the largest of the litter. Arya's wolf growled a little, but the other remained completely quiet, as usual.

"Your father didn't tell you the reason for my visit?" Ned asked.

Daeron simply shook his head, still speachless. Ned could not blame him. While all the wolves were a sight to stop any man in his tracks, the piercing red eyes of the white one were something else entirely. 

Arya raised from her place and took Daeron's hand.

"That's my wolf, Nymeria. And that is one of her litter-mates. He doesn't have a name yet."

"We thought you should choose the name, since we brought him for you." Bran completed.

"You brought me a _direwolf_?” His nephew sounded disbelieving, even as he and Arya took cautious steps towards the wolves.

Sansa and Ned laughed.

"It's not the most conventional of gifts, but it should be a worthy companion for a prince that hails from House Stark as well." 

The wolf parted from Nymeria, approaching Daeron confidently, closing the distance between them. Arya took the hand she was holding, and extended her cousin's arm, so that his hand was palm up, as an offering to the creature. 

They all waited anxiously as the wolf remained impassive, until it touched Daeron's hand with it's wet snout. The prince grinned broadly, completely taken by the wolf.

"They are such marvelous creatures." 

"This one is quiet, I never heard it at all, not even when it was little more than a cub, but it is fierce."

Daeron got down on the floor, completely careless, so that he was level with the wolf’s head, as they continued to get acquainted with each other. 

“I will call you Ghost.” He whispered to his new companion, that responded by tugging on Daeron’s hand.

“Son, did you have a message from your father?” Ned remembered the prince had been about to say something. 

“Yes. Father could not come, but he awaits you at the Tower of the Hand, uncle.”

“Then I better go to him.” 

When Lord Stark got up he realized a kingsguard was by the door the whole time, that must have entered with Daeron. Ser Gerold Hightower, he recognized, looking fondly at his prince.

“Ser Gerold. It is good to see you again.”

The White Bull smiled. 

“I say the same, Lord Stark. Let me take you to King Rhaegar.”

Ned looked back just once, to keep the memory. His children hurdled around Daeron and Ghost, talking animatedly, the other wolves starting to lay down next to them, keeping careful watch. Sansa’s red hair catching light, Arya’s open smile, Bran’s curiosity and Daeron’s bright grey eyes. A strong pack.

“Lead the way, Ser.”

He was glad the knight was there to do it, otherwise he would have been lost. The Red Keep was full of secrets and passageways that probably not even the Targaryens could properly navigate. Ned wondered why Rhaegar had chosen the Tower of the Hand.

His relationship with the King was rather complicated. After Robert’s death, everything collapsed into chaos. And then Rhaegar told him where to find his sister. That they were married, that she was pregnant. He hated to leave Lord Stannis and Lord Jon to figure out what to do, but Ned had entered the rebellion for his family. His father, his brother, his sister. And to know he could see her again... He had to.

Rhaegar had to decide, at the time, which part of his family was in the most precarious situation, and needed him more. That was definitely Elia and the children being kept by the Mad King. So he moved to King’s Landing, while Ned went to stay with Lyanna.

Being with Lyanna was conflicting. Their happiness at being together, their grief for their family. But most of all, their anger. At themselves and at each other. Lya was so angry at herself for being careless, at Ned for choosing Robert over her. They felt everything at once.

Yet he could not help but be grateful for that time. To hear the truth from her, to be close, to finally listen to Lyanna completely. To experience the last moments of her pregnancy with her. His sister was positively glowing, she was so happy about her little dragonwolf. Ned never expected it, but Lyanna took well to motherhood, to being married. She was proud of the man she chose, even if wishing to have gone about it differently.

So when his sister died at her birthing bed, her son crying between them as Lyanna made Ned promise to look after the child, to not allow Rhaegar to be overwhelmed by grief, to take care of her small family, he could not deny her. 

Ned had wronged her before and he would not do it again. When he arrived at King’s Landing with Daeron in his arms, he had already surrendered to the fact that the existence of that small child connected him and Rhaegar forever.

“We are here, Lord Stark.” Ser Gerold opened the door for him.

The audience chamber at the Tower was illuminated in the golden light of the sun, feeling private. The air was still, and Rhaegar was waiting for Ned by the round window. 

Lord Stark had to admit that Rhaegar made for an imposing figure. Tall and strong, yet slender, with his long silver hair and penetrating eyes. 

“Hello, Ned.” The King’s voice was iron, but musical with that strange Valyrian brogue that all of his family seemed to share. “I assume Daeron was besides himself with happiness.”

“Yes. He has even named the wolf already. Ghost. Why didn’t you tell him about the wolves?”

Rhaegar smiled. It was a sight familiar enough, after the years growing used to the dragon. 

“I wanted him to be surprised. I knew he would love it. And perhaps training a direwolf will distract Daeron from trying to shoot arrows while on horseback.”

“He was doing that?”

“Yes. It would seem I must have a conversation with my son about broken necks and how one happens upon them.”

The two of them laughed together, and it was at once comfortable and strange.

“How long do you plan on staying, my Lord?”

“Perhaps a moon. Enough time to be worth the struggle of traveling, and to forget the hassle of doing it with children and wolves.” Rhaegar chuckled at his comment. “Why did you want to meet here, Your Grace?”

“Maybe you have not noticed, but this Tower is unoccupied. I sent Lord Connington to Storm’s End. The King is currently missing a Hand, I’m afraid.”

That made Ned tense. 

“Is there something wrong?”

“Not quite. Not yet. But I sense something coming. I want to be prepared.” Rhaegar walked closer to Ned, until they were face to face, his indigo eyes dark. “Lord Stark. How loyal are you?”

“I am loyal to House Targaryen, you know it. I have been ever since I looked into the eyes of the child you had with my sister. Blood unites our houses.”

Ned was certain. He had served because of that promise, and all those years later, he served because it felt right. The Realm prospered. And Rhaegar cared for the North as few had before. In getting to know the King, Ned realized that he loved his sister as she loved him. As two fools.

“Even if my enemies used to be your allies?”

“Robert died. On the field, against you.” Ned looked away from Rhaegar’s intense gaze. “I can’t say I wouldn’t want him back. Mistakes were made. By everyone. But if I had listened to Lyanna in the beginning, when she told me she could not marry Robert, perhaps we would have no need for this conversation.”

“I understand you loved him. I do not demand that you leave those feelings behind. But for the sake of what exists right now, for the family we share, I do have to insist on your loyalty. And ask for your help.”

“You have my loyalty. At first, I gave it to you for Lyanna and Daeron, but you proceeded to earn it, Your Grace. How can I serve?”

“I want you to become Hand of the King.” Rhaegar said softly.

Ned was sure he heard it wrong.

“Hand of the King? Why? I can not be your first choice.”

“I actually thought of you many years before. But I felt you deserved to be with your family, to enjoy peace at Winterfell. The situation, however, changed drastically.”

The King offered Ned a scroll, with the simple black mark of the Night’s Watch, that he recognized from his correspondence with Benjen. He started reading it, and felt as if he was losing his footing. 

“A living dead man? That is insanity! Lord Mormont should look for my brother, not worry about stories Old Nan tells the children before they go to bed!”

“The Night’s Watch prepares to go on a great ranging mission beyond the Wall. They will not neglect to search for Benjen. But they saw it with their very eyes, Lord Mormont and the men occupying Castle Black. There is no denying. Maester Aemon has confirmed it to me as well, he sent a raven of his own.”

Lord Stark felt cold all over, his skin growing clammy as he tried to process what was happening. He could not lose Benjen, they were the last of their pack. How could he believe in living corpses and giants and enormous spiders, and all of that ridiculousness. The Long Night was a story. Just that.

Before he noticed, Rhaegar had helped Ned to sit down on a chair.

“I am not a man of politics.” Ned whispered. “I do not believe in the Others. Why would you want me as Hand?”

“I am not political either. I lead with what seems right, and what I think is demanded of me. I hate killing, playing this game, and most of what being King in this shit situation means.” His tone made Ned look up, at the dragon’s passionate expression. “Yet this is my role, that I was born to fulfill. My duty. There is plenty of people around me to be shrewd, scheme and manipulate. Gods bless him, Aegon can do it. That is not what I need from you. I need an honest, strong, honorable person to go through what I fear will be the darkest hour of this Realm. When in war, a King must trust his closest advisors as much as possible. I want that from you.”

Ned had the sinking feeling that he could not run away from this, from his family, at all. 

_Promise me you’ll take care of them when I am gone, Ned._

His knee was already bent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ned’s theme is S1 “Goodbye, brother”
> 
> For House Stark, S8 “The Last of the Starks”
> 
> About Daeron’s clothes: I was thinking of something very similar to what Joffrey wears to Sansa’s wedding to Tyrion. He was terrible, but that was a fire outfit 😂


	16. XVI. Viserys

# XVI. Viserys

He was not sure if he should have allowed the Red Woman at Dragonstone after all. Viserys himself had no real faith in any Gods, but the priestess, Melisandre, clearly believed in hers ardently. The Red God gave her visions in the fire, and she interpreted them. To her, Azor Ahai, the Prince Who Was Promised, had been reborn in the island amidst salt and smoke.

Rhaegar had made Viserys familiar with the tale, it was one of the many stories he would tell them growing up. A legendary hero who had defeated the Great Other with his flaming sword, Lightbringer. 

One thing the prince was very sure of was that he did not believe a word of it. When Melisandre entered his halls and told him everything she saw in her visions, Viserys had wanted to laugh and tell her in return that he had not even been born at Dragonstone at all. 

Yet there was something about the woman, that made him suspect she had real power. Perhaps it was all an act, and she was insane, but he had wanted to know for sure before sending Melisandre away.

So, for almost a moon, Viserys had been with her, trying to understand if she was of any use.

At the very least, the Red Woman was pleasing to look at. Beautiful, really, almost as much as his sister, with her sultry voice and heart shaped face. He wondered if it was already time to fuck her and then send her back to whatever hole she had crawled from. The uncertainty drained what little patience Viserys had.

He was seated at the Throne of Dragonstone, weighting options. The maester had been very unhappy with Melisandre's presence, but nothing compared to the septon, who claimed she was a shadowbinder and a demon who proclaimed for a false God. After Viserys had threatened to throw the man on the cells and forget him there, he had stopped complaining so much.

He kept remembering Rhaegar's message, that had arrived some time prior. 

_Brother, why haven't you returned? We are worried, and it is time for our family to be reunited once more. Come back to me. If there is something wrong, we can discuss it. Let us not allow division to fester any longer._

A part of Viserys, that he thought long burried, had stirred at the words. Some boyish desire for the approval of his older brother remained. And he wanted to rest. It was so draining to feel angry. 

Yet the last sentence irked him, and kept the prince from reaching out. It sounded as if Rhaegar thought this was Viserys' fault, that he had created that division. When all he truly wanted was his rightful place by Rhaegar's side, and was denied, time and time again.

"Your Grace. You seem troubled." The Red Woman had the terrible habit of entering places she shouldn't, and always doing so in off-putting silence.

"Yes. That would be because I am starting to think you are nothing more than a delusional liar."

Melisandre smiled, seemingly undisturbed by the acusation.

"I can not give you power while you worship false Gods, my King. Only when you have committed to the Lord of Light will He show you His true greatness."

"I worship no Gods." Viserys told her through gritted teeth.

"Yes, you do. The Targaryens keep to the Seven, and this very castle contains a Sept dedicated to them. End this, and be born anew under R'hollor, and I will show you everything you look for, Your Grace."

 _Targaryens answer to neither Gods nor men_ , Viserys was ready to say it. Yet he bit his tongue forcefully. If he was to find if this woman had any real magic, it better be at once. He raised from the throne, staring down coldly.

"What would your God have me do?"

"Burn the statues of the false gods in sacrifice to R'hollor. Take your place as Azor Ahai come again."

He had no care for being Azor Ahai or any other thing of the sort, but complied. 

"Have it your way. Is there something more?"

"We will do this outside, with the people that reside in this castle as witness. Afterwards, you will have power to destroy all those who opposed you, my King."

 _My King_. Viserys had to admit it sounded rather pleasing. He descended the steps towards Melisandre. She was tall, her beautiful breasts showing on one of those red dresses that she worn always. His hand touched her cheek. It was hot, even in the chill of the nights at Dragonstone. 

"You better be speaking the truth. Otherwise, I will just have lost heirlooms of House Targaryen to your nonsense, and you will regret waking the dragon." 

Melisandre drew closer to him, her lips hovering over his.

"In the flames, there is only Truth."

Viserys felt the urge to kiss the Red Woman, but instead only allowed the moment to linger a little longer before turning away, to oversee his orders personally. He expected some resistance to what he was about to do. Melisandre followed quietly.

The Sept was a place he only visited once, when he was younger. He even had a bit of difficulty remembering the way over there, but pretended to only be recruiting men along the path to carry out his commands.

When they arrived, Viserys realized the septon was there, praying to the Father. Likely asking the God to send Melisandre away. He smiled at the thought.

“Move aside, old man.”

“What are you doing? You are not supposed to bring this evil woman to a holy place!”

Viserys did not like to be told what he could or could not do.

“Does the Lord of Light also appreciate the sacrifice of septons?” He asked Melisandre. After all, a threat was a promise, and he was taught to keep those. 

“It could be arranged.” 

“Good.” Viserys looked at the men he brought. They seemed concerned. “Tie this man to the statue of the Father, and then bring all aspects of the Seven outside, to the beach.”

“Your Grace.” One of them spoke up. “This doesn’t seem right. We follow the Seven. This woman is a foreigner, with a foreign God.”

Viserys drew out his sword. Similar to Daenerys, he was not very fond of training, but he was good at it. 

“I am Viserys of House Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone. Challenge me one more time, and I will burn you next to him.”

The men carried out their orders.

Sooner then he expected, they were ready. The Seven arranged in a tight circle, the people of the castle, and probably some that lived nearby, looking at the noturnal spectacle, with Melisandre walking outside the collection of statues, holding up a torch as the waves moved against the sand, and as the septon tried to scream against his gag.

Viserys hated to admit it, but he felt the air charged with a mysterious energy that strained his nerves. 

“We are here to pay witness, as Azor Ahai is reborn, amidst salt and smoke. As he forsakes all false worship, to become the true champion of Light. For the night is dark and full of terrors.” The priestess lowered the torch, and the fire started to spread impossibly fast, the noises of the septon growing until coming to an abrupt end. 

“Come, Your Grace.” Melisandre turned towards Viserys, who stood closer to the pyre than anyone else, and her eyes were glowing with the flames. “From the fires of your sacrifice, take your Lightbringer, that will guide us all in the darkness.” 

Surprised, he inspected the blaze closer, and indeed, from what was quickly becoming an unrecognizable pile of nothing, the hilt of a sword protruded, glowing golden. Viserys worried for a moment that he would burn himself trying to do this, but his heart settled as soon as the thought occurred. _Fire can not kill a dragon._

He drew the sword out, what Melisandre believed to be Lightbringer, and it emitted an otherworldly glow, but it was cool to his touch. While Viserys had no illusions of being Azor Ahai, since in reality, no one was, this seemed to give him proof that Melisandre could give what he wanted. He could pretend to believe her in exchange for the power of a shadowbinder of Asshai.

The people moved away slowly, and he knew he could not keep news of this from leaving the island. Not that he cared much. Let Rhaegar know he should not have neglected Viserys in favor of his lesser sons. 

The prince stood on the sand a while, holding the glowing sword. Melisandre came behind him, her long hands covering his, her breath against his ear.

“Let us return, my King.”

“I am not a King.” Viserys whispered, not knowing where the honesty was coming from. “I do not even wish to be one. I just want to be with my family, in the place where I belong. I just want Rhaegar to give me what is mine by right.”

Her hand moved soothingly up and down his arm.

“Allow me, then, to take away those who have stood on your way.”

They walked together towards the castle, and Viserys allowed Melisandre to pull him along a bit, because he felt off kilter. 

Upon arrival, she moved to stand at the center of his chambers. He did not remember allowing her to enter, or her asking at all, but Viserys figured it was time to collect his dues. He supported the sword against the wall, close to the hearth shaped like the head of a dragon, maw open to breath fire.

“Why do you want to help?” He asked.

Melisandre did not answer, letting her long red dress fall to the ground instead. She was quite possibly the most beautiful woman Viserys had ever seen this way. He could only dream of how much more beautiful Daenerys would be, under her flowing gowns. 

_I would need to punish her first, for laying with the Stark dog. Only then, she will be fit for me again._

“Give me some of your fire, Your Grace, so I can take one of your enemies.”

“One?” Viserys drew closer to her.

“Only life can pay for death. For now, only one. Choose wisely.”

He knew exactly who as he violently kissed the priestess.


	17. XVII. Daeron

# XVII. Daeron

He was hunting. Every single detail was enhanced, and leaves crushed underneath his weight, even as Daeron tried to stay quiet, to not scare his prey. He could feel his siblings around him, breathing slowly. As soon as the wind changed, the deer raised it’s head, eyes growing in fear. He jumped immediately to secure it. 

But as Daeron leaped through the air, instead of falling heavily upon his target, he kept flying.

Flying with massive, strong wings, that could cast entire cities in their shadow, the sun reflecting off of him with a beautiful red glow. From so high in the sky, he could see everything. Instead of the woods he had been at before, the prince saw the large expanse of pure white snow, covering all.

Straight away, he knew it was the North. There was something in the air of his mother’s homeland that spoke to his heart deeply, giving a sense of belonging. 

On the horizon, Daeron could see the massive structure of the Wall, stretching for miles to the left and to the right. He wanted to cross it, go beyond the Wall into the Lands of Always Winter, where only brave men dared to go. 

Yet he found he could not. The wind itself seemed to become hostile the more he approached the northernmost border, trying to cool the prince’s intense heat, and a powerful, terrible force came, making Daeron’s wings feel heavy as iron while he tried to fly through it.

Frustrated, he roared against the empty space, a long column of bright red fire with veins of black leaving his maw, making the air warmer around his body, only for the wind to peak up right away, several degrees dropping at once. 

Unable to continue, he landed atop of the Wall, making it shake with his massive size, bellowing a deafening sound.

 _What could stop a dragon?_ The very thought froze Daeron’s heart.

He woke up suddenly, nearly falling over the bed. His hand shot to the left side, wanting to make sure Dany was there. He hit empty sheets. 

“Dany?” Daeron called.

He wasn’t clear on the hour, or if he was being too loud, or reacting too strongly. He just needed to know she was safe and there, for the strange fear that gripped his dreams seemed to have bled over into his reality.

“Daenerys!” 

Daeron got up, searching. Judging by the dim light, it should be the early hours of the morn. She should be asleep. She should be by his side. His head was starting to pound with pain.

It was cold, but the prince didn’t bother dressing, instead pacing to the adjacent room, growing frantic until he heard a small sound, like coughing, that he followed.

There, curled on the ground, Dany was on the corner close to her chamber pot, throwing up intensely. Daeron hurried to her side, helping to take her long hair away from her face, the skin chill and wet to his touch.

She tried to get him to leave, shoving Daeron lightly on the chest, but he decided to ignore it. Daenerys clearly needed help, and he was not one to be disconcerted by his lover feeling poorly.

Daeron was relieved to find her in the same measure as he was worried by her condition. Dany was naked on the floor, and somehow, she who was fire in human form, seemed cold. He tried to warm her without being overwhelming, running his hand gently on Dany’s back, whispering to her, until she calmed.

Dany fell against his chest when she was done, looking exhausted.

“I need water. And clothes.” 

He raised her slowly in his arms, so as to not make her even more nauseous, and helped Dany to seat down on her bed. When she was secure, Daeron proceeded to give her a cup full of water, and to pull her nightgown over her head, getting blankets around her as well.

Daenerys was amused by his antics.

“You look pale, as a worried mother. I’m not dying, you know.”

He wanted to, but Daeron found no humor to answer in the same tone.

“I was having a dragon dream. And you were not there. Finding you like this... Dany, what’s wrong? We should call the maester.”

As he moved to do it, she held him back by the wrist. 

“Are you planning on doing that as bare as in your name day?” His love was so calm, she could trick him into thinking nothing happened at all. “It is too early, darling. You were not even supposed to be in my bed. But since you are...”

Dany lifted the sheets, inviting Daeron back. He took a deep breath, and moved to be by her side. The dragonwolf could not lay down, so he seated close to her, crossed legs, holding one of her small hands, touching a finger at a time.

“ _Issa jorrāelagon”_. Daenerys used her other hand to lift his chin. “What was your dragon dream about?”

Daeron knew she was deflecting from what happened, but experience showed it was best to allow her to do so, and then probe her again after. So he told Dany everything.

When he was done, she was staring pensively at the ceiling.

“The first part, it does not sound like a dragon dream.”

“I know, but I never had one similar to this. I don’t know what to call it.”

“I have been dreaming more lately.” Dany turned her head to the side, to focus her amethyst eyes on him. “They are more vivid than ever, and I do not know what they mean either. There are always so many dragons.”

Daeron knew she wanted to hatch the eggs, but they had no idea how. And after many failed attempts in their family, she was afraid to try something and end up with another tragedy. He kissed the back of Dany’s hand.

“And have you been feeling sick as well?” 

“You took no time going back to this topic.” She complained. Daeron was usually more subtle, but he could not help his anxiety. “Not really. I feel a bit queasy at times, but nothing serious. Today was a first.”

“I want you to see the maester later.” His tone was firm, commanding even. 

Dany did not enjoy it. 

“I will go if I want to. This is nothing. I never fall ill.”

“Never? What about that time when you were eleven and you had a terrible fever? I stayed by your bedside for more than a week.”

“That was years ago! I was a child. This is different.”

They stared at each other, both unwilling to let go. Daeron loved her with every breath, but they were also dragons, and that always made them inevitably clash. Often, he would be the first to stand back, because it was in his nature as well. Dany would then regret being harsh, and relent in some way, though rarely fully.

It was not one of those times.

“You were throwing up violently. I am not letting it pass. You will see the maester.”

“I mistrust Pycelle, and you know it. I will not see him. I prefer the maester of Dragonstone.”

“Then we will go all the bloody way to Dragonstone!”

Unexpectedly, Daenerys started laughing.

“Is this so important to you, Daeron?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

She moved towards him, a playful smile on her lips as her arms went around his neck.

“Then I will go to him. It will help convince Rhaegar to let us see Viserys too.”

“Thank you.”

She started kissing him, lightly. The fear had subsided, but still lurked on his soul, and he could not explain the precise reason. He felt watched and vulnerable. Dany caressed his lips with the tips of her fingers, studying his face.

“You got your hair cut. Why? I like it longer. Makes you look even more northern.”

“Lady Olenna ane Lord Tyrion are supposed to arrive today. We will have a feast. And Princess Elia will come eventually. I just wanted to look well, I guess.”

A small frown formed between her eyebrows, and Daeron kissed it. She knew him and could see what his words meant, so he just waited for her reaction.

“We love you. I love you. Do not fret. You are a prince of Westeros.”

“I know. I love you as well. It’s just... No matter how many years pass, it is always the same. People either eagerly waiting for my supposed eminent betrayal or hating me for the very same reason. The Lords and Ladies come with their minds already made, and watch me carefully.”

“Aegon faces the same. They expect him to get rid of you or think him a fool for trusting you.” Dany lifted her chin, defiant and passionate about the subject. Always trying to protect his heart. “Fire and blood. To others, it may be nothing more than the promise of violence. To us, it is life itself, and what connects us. Be a dragon, Daeron.”

He kissed her mouth more forcefully this time. He wanted to show he loved and appreciated everything Daenerys did for him, the role she took for herself ever since they were little. 

Aegon was incredibly dear to him, someone Daeron felt ready to die for. Yet Dany had always been his safe space, because she accepted every part of him, from the beginning. His northern ways, his mother, his position. She took it all with no judgment, in an unshakable manner that did not change, regardless of the presence or stares of anyone.

Dany climbed on his lap, and with the sunlight growing brighter, he wondered if he had any time left to be in her bed just a little more.

“Don’t even think about it.” His love warned while she kissed and bit his neck and jaw. 

“You are the one that came to me.” Daeron emphasized his point by squeezing both of her thighs.

“I know. Now go.” She kissed him quickly, then moved away from him. 

Daeron wanted to argue, but knew she was right. So he scrambled for his clothes, haphazardly thrown all over the floor, and tried to put them on fast. Daenerys was watching his struggle, smiling, the sun making her silver hair glow. 

“I can not wait to marry you, Your Grace. Then I won’t be doing this anymore.” 

“Soon, my love.” Her tone was confident. 

He smiled one more time before leaving. Luckily, the hall seemed still empty, and Daeron hoped to not stumble upon any maid starting her day. It had happened before.

Once he finally reached his door with no incidents, the prince smiled to himself. He should have known it was premature. 

“Are those the same clothes from yesterday?”

Daeron turned around to see his older brother standing on the steps, with a playful grin. Their chambers were side by side, but they never had such an encounter, since Egg was not an early riser by any means. It was fucking embarrassing.

“Yes, yes they are. Happy?” He inspected Aegon more closely. “And so are yours. Care to explain?”

”I was out with Margaery.” Egg responded easily, walking towards Daeron. 

Many things made no sense on that one sentence.

“Out? In the middle of the night? You are the best of us, you don’t go around doing that sort of thing. And since when do you call her Margeary? What happened to not letting her manipulate you?”

His brother laughed, probably just at the sheer number of questions. 

“She is manipulating. But then, so am I. If I will marry her, might as well enjoy some of it. _Lady Margaery_ could have been a much worst match.”

“Finally, I get to tease someone for sneaking around too.” The two of them laughed.

“Are you happy that your family is here?” Aegon asked seriously all of a sudden. 

Daeron was very familiar with the slight insecurity in his brother’s tone. It always came up whenever they were with the Starks. When Aegon seemed to compete with Robb for a place in his heart, as if his brother was not already so precious to him. He hated to hear it. 

“You are my family. But it is nice to have them here also.”

“The direwolf is probably the best gift anyone will ever give you.” Aegon chuckled. 

Daeron felt the need to raise his brother’s spirit, even though their roles were usually reversed. 

“Let’s change, and start our days. You should come with me, I am trying to teach Ghost some tricks. You know, before we have to do all that worrying about the future of the Realm.”

They shared another laugh, but Daeron was also very serious. Each day seemed to grow heavier, darker than the one before. The fear in his soul appeared again, the strange feeling of his dream, and he worried it would never leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some calm before the storm :)


	18. XVIII. Aegon

# XVIII. Aegon

He felt powerless to stop the motion of events as soon as the day begun. A rather strange position for the Prince of Dragonstone, especially one as crafty as him. 

But Aegon could call himself a dragon all day, yet in the end, he was truly just a person. It was a hard thought, but one he tried to keep in mind at all times. If he lost sight of his weakness, his enemies would see it from a mile away.

It started slow. He and Daeron spent a good part of the morning with Ghost and the Starks, while their Lord Father was away, officially the new Hand. Aegon was not convinced Ned Stark was the best choice, yet was also painfully aware that there were few Lords of suitable ranking for the position, and even fewer they could actually trust. 

He enjoyed his time with them and the wolves, as he always did whenever they went to Winterfell. It wasn’t often, but it was regular, for Princess Lyanna had been buried in the crypts bellow the castle, and his father would inevitably go back for her every few years.

Aegon really did not resent it. While it had been undoubtedly more complicated than necessary, and hard on his mother, in the end, he could not hold it against his father. Perhaps it was his love for Daeron speaking louder than common sense, but he simply enjoyed his family exactly as it was.

His mother had freedom, staying with them at King’s Landing or returning to Sunspear at will, and while Elia was not called queen, it was a common, silent agreement that she was the closest thing to it that would ever exist during King Rhaegar’s reign. 

What made him uneasy was the sense of separation starting to grow, that invisible line that divided them into “Starks” and “Martells”, instead of “House Targaryen”, as they usually were when left alone. Aegon knew it would only get worse once his mother arrived for the wedding, and he almost wished she would not come at all.

Rhaenys would usually keep a polite distance from the Starks, because regardless of her love for their younger brother, her loyalty to their mother was a strong pull she did not seem able to resist. Little Arya was all the more enchanted by Aegon’s sister when she was aloof, and the counterintuitive reaction amused him.

At least Robb Stark was not there. He made Aegon the most uncomfortable. He was of a very close age to Aegon and Daeron, and it bothered the prince to see how similar the Stark heir was to Daeron. He knew it was a petty thing, but it never ceased to annoy him. He was protective of the bond they shared.

Daeron was his companion, in ways Rhaenys could not always be. They shared the weight of the world, even if their father didn’t mean it to be this way. 

_The dragon has three heads. The day will come when the two of you will need to hold this Realm together. Daeron to the North, and you to the South._ The third head was unclear to them yet. His father had always thought it was Rhaenys, but as they grew, Aegon felt differently. He was not so sure.

Their morning was cut short by the arrival of Lady Olenna. Aegon knew it was not necessary for them to meet immediately, but he had told Margaery he’d be there when her infamous grandmother came.

It was a small gesture, a careful line the prince tried to walk, between acting as if he did not need the Tyrells at all while not driving them away. 

Margaery had warned Aegon that Lady Olenna was promised a marriage to his ancestor, Prince Daeron, that never came to fruition, and that in turn made her very suspicious of his abilities to keep vows, and eager for the wedding to take place at once. 

He really should be used to it, in a family such as his, yet the way in which people who had died long ago, and that he never met, could still cause him the most unexpected inconviniences never failed to impress Aegon. 

Lady Margaery was waiting for him in the gardens, and he felt strange. It was in his ways to act confident when he was not, and the prince had done so with Daeron that morning. But his brother had been absolutely correct. Aegon was not one to go on late night rides by the Blackwater Bay with highborn ladies, and then spend the rest of the time in said Lady’s bed. It was, in fact, so far from his usual choices that it made Aegon even more concerned. 

The prince had only experienced minor infatuations, that he would overcome in less than a moon. Margaery felt different from any of that, and Aegon did not welcome it. He could not afford to act as a fool in love. _I refuse it._

“Good morning, Your Grace.” Her smile was bright when she noticed his approach. “Grandmother has been anxious to meet you!”

Aegon doubted that very much, but smiled back right away. Yet before he could get so much as a word out, the Queen of Thorns started making her moniker justice.

“Your Grace.” Her tone was of mock happiness, sitting on a chair, not bothering with pleasantries or manners. “Trying to make good impressions very early in the day, I see.”

Aegon had promised himself to not engage Lady Olenna at all, to hold back his own tongue. After all, out of the dragons, he had the most ease at controlling his temper and impulses. It shouldn’t be so hard. 

"I am merely fulfilling my role as the Prince of Dragonstone, my Lady. It is delightful to meet you."

The old woman did not seem impressed.

"Many fools have been Princes of Dragonstone before you."

"Grandmother, please." Margaery moved closer to him, apprehensive, her hand on his forearm.

"Yet I am not one of them."

"That we shall see." Lady Olenna smiled briefly. "I hope you father is doing well."

It sounded more as a question than a true wish.

"He is. His Grace and Lord Stark will be at the feast later. He will appreciate your presence."

"Ha! Ned Stark as Hand of the King, is what I have heard. These are truly dark times when that is the best the Realm can expect." 

He clenched his jaw. Prince Aegon questioned his father frequently when they were alone, but it was something he could not stand for in public. 

"These are simply the times when House Targaryen has learned to not give trust to those who have not earned it yet."

It was the first moment she actually seemed to see him. The Queen of Thorns leaned back against her chair, and stroked her chin.

"Finally."

He simply tilted his head in acknowledgment. Reading a situation as few could, Margeary seemed to double down on her liveliness, steering the conversation elsewhere. 

"Prince Aegon and I are very happy you came, grandmother. We will be able to arrange for the wedding soon enough.”

“So it is decided?” Lady Olenna raised her eyebrows at Aegon.

He was near the point of regret, because his patience was wearing thin. The old woman was disrespectful, full of contempt, and treated Aegon as a green boy. The Mad King would have probably scorched her where she sat for much less. But he was determined to succeed where Lady Olenna was certain he’d fail. 

“Yes, it is. I believe it is a match to favor both of our Houses and to bring security and prosperity to the Seven Kingdoms.”

“The prosperity of the gold and grain I am certain you expect from us.”

It was Aegon’s turn to raise one of his silvery eyebrows.

“And the security House Tyrell needs, so that all will forget you were merely the stewards of the Gardener Kings and had no right to rule the Reach.”

Lady Olenna had the opposite reaction from what he expected: she started laughing.

“Very well, Prince Aegon. It seems indeed that the rose has thorns and the dragon breathes fire.” She raised from her seat. “I am too old to curtsy, and certainly too tired from all this traveling. Do send my regards to the King, and I will see you then.”

Lady Olenna started walking away with no more words, and Margaery smiled apologetically. 

“I am so sorry, Your Grace. She is like this with everybody.”

Aegon moved closer to his betrothed. She was smaller, with a sweet scent, and he was pleased to enjoy her presence. It was better than the scenario he imagined prior to meeting Margaery. 

“I seem to remember you calling me Aegon before.” He knew it was not right to mention their night in such a way, but he could not help it. “Or am I ‘Your Grace’ again?”

Margaery actually blushed, but gained composure quickly. 

“It will be Your Grace until we are wed. I was reckless. It will not happen again.”

“Are you worried I will go back on my word? I will not.”

“Targaryens are a bit infamous for it at this point. You may even go back on your words after the marriage.”

Aegon took a step back from her, and Margaery realized at once she had gone too far.

“I did not mean to say that.” She seemed even more flustered than before. “You do this strange thing to me, and I don’t behave like myself. I am truly sorry.”

 _You do the same damn thing to me._ He refused to acknowledge that, so the prince went for a safer reply. 

“I chose to marry you. Me. No one else. My father would never force me to marry anyone. And if Targaryens are infamous for anything, it’s for doing exactly what we want.”

Aegon turned around and left before she could answer. The fact that it was harder to keep control of a situation with Margaery than with her grandmother was frustrating. They had been doing this for over a moon. The pushing and pulling, the way she seemed to be all wrong and all right for him at once. He wondered if it would be easier to not have any feelings involved. 

He walked around the Keep for a while, not feeling well enough to go back to the Starks or to meet his father. Eventually Aegon found himself at the Great Hall, contemplating the Iron Throne. 

The thing was huge and terrible, and while it was the ultimate symbol of the power of House Targaryen, the prince disliked it. There was a cruelty about the Throne that only made him think of his grandfather cutting himself on the edges, or laughing while Rickard and Brandon Stark died. 

“Thinking of sitting on it one day?”

Ser Jaime had come through one of the side entrances, gold and white armor glinting as he smiled. The lion was Prince Aegon’s most frequent guard, because Jaime was his favorite, with his dry humor and often blunt ways.

“You caught me, Ser. I was planning on being the most magnificent tyrant anyone has ever seen.”

“You have tough competition then.”

They laughed, but the Gods knew it was true.

“Wasn’t your brother supposed to be here already?”

Jaime had come to stand by Aegon, and he looked up, as if choosing his words.

“He is. Just not at the Keep. He’s probably planning on showing right on time for the feast, absolutely drunk after visiting at least half of the brothels.”

“Lord Tyrion’s fame does precede him. Yet I am interested in meeting him nevertheless.”

“And why is that?”

“He will be different from any Lord I have ever met. It should be interesting. But please, send the City Guards or anyone else to fetch him and get him to some semblance of sobriety. I will not have disasters tonight.”

“I can not guarantee I'll find him in time, but I will try. Why are you so worried anyway? Lady Margaery seems quite smitten with you. Things have been going rather easily as of late."

"My uncle is not here. People will notice. Anything other than a strong, united front, is already a disaster in the making. It worries me that Viserys may be doing something stupid at Dragonstone."

"Then send me. I can retrieve him."

"Do you plan on dragging him back tied to your horse?"

Ser Jaime smirked. "If necessary."

"As much as I would enjoy the sight, we can't. Daenerys and my siblings have already requested to go and bring Viserys home, but Father denied."

"Why? The princesses have the best chance of convincing him, after King Rhaegar himself."

"Father wants him to come back on his own. Gracefully. It would be ideal, but it's probably a futile wish. After tonight, going there will be our last resort, I'm afraid."

"Send for me if you change your mind, Aegon."

The prince chuckled. 

"It is a tempting offer. Go, Ser Jaime. Maybe with some daylight still left your hopes of finding Lord Tyrion will be best."

The kingsguard bowed swiftly, and moved away. He took one last look at the Throne, at his future burden. _A good king must serve his people first, so that prosperity and happiness may follow._ His father had learned that lesson painfully, yet Aegon intended to live by it as his favorite Targaryen, King Jaehaerys I.

The rest of the day moved quickly, as he tried to keep busy until it was time. His father seemed aloof, and worried, yet when the prince asked, King Rhaegar only touched the face of his heir, and gave him a bittersweet smile, making Aegon feel as a little boy again. 

“We will speak tomorrow. You should have today. Be happy now.”

He didn’t like the sound of that at all. 

The feast was a small affair, especially in comparison to what his father usually did, which was having tables set out for the servants of the Keep, and extra food made to be sent into the city, that he missed being able to visit personally. Aegon knew this habit was not well seen by the Lords, yet he found it was worth upsetting them in cases such as these. 

The five of them were all in the colors of their House, and it felt like putting on armor. He wondered if the Tyrells found it a bit overwhelming, but maybe that was the entire point. 

“I noticed Prince Viserys is absent.” Lady Olenna finally made the remark Aegon was dreading, taking her seat. “I do hope everything is well.”

Again, more a question than a real wish. 

“My brother has been staying at Dragonstone. After all, the care of our ancestral seat and of the people that live on the island are not to be neglected. I do miss being able to live there myself.”

Aegon never tired of seeing his father navigate social situations. The King was calm and reserved, yet always charming to everyone around him, an innate gift that came as easy as one of his smiles, as he dissipated concerns. 

Margaery was sitting to his right, while his brother was to his left. The idle talks were common place enough, and the Tyrells seemed to want to please their hosts. Or at least Margaery did. She held most of the conversation, with remarks here and there from her grandmother, that seemed somewhat subdued since their meeting in the morning.

Ser Loras was not contributing much of anything, and Aegon realized then that he seemed to keep to himself most of the time, as if trying to make them forget he was even there at all. It was an odd thing to do, since the prince knew that a position in the Kingsguard for Loras was a request from his family. 

The Starks helped to make the mood much lighter, mainly because of Arya and Bran, since both tried to act seriously, yet failed visibly, to the dismay of Sansa, who for some reason had started to look away every time she and Aegon exchanged glances. 

He would think more about it if he was not worried by the fact that Lord Tyrion was not there. Ser Jaime had not returned, and Aegon wondered if the younger Lannister was avoiding the Keep purposefully. King Rhaegar seemed to believe this to be some ploy on Lord Tywin’s part, but Aegon was not convinced.

His father was in the middle of a story about some hunt, that he somehow made interesting while they waited to start eating, and so Aegon took the moment to hold Margaery’s hand underneath the table, and was relieved when she allowed it, and searched his eyes immediately.

“I am sorry.” He whispered. “I didn’t mean to walk away like that.”

She squeezed his hand in return.

“It’s alright. I said something hurtful to you, we were both in the wrong.”

Aegon wished to kiss her again. She was so soft, so tiny, with her brown eyes reflecting the candlelight. It was a dangerous feeling. If she held too much sway over his heart, the next thing would be to hold control over his head. 

She kept looking at him as if she could uncover something by staring hard enough. Suddenly, Maegaery raised their united hands, and rested her cheek on the back of his hand briefly, with a shy smile, before resuming to their original position, and Aegon resisted the urge to look around to identify if anyone was watching them.

“Good evening, everyone!”

The smallest man Aegon had ever seen was wobbling towards the long table, a mop of golden hair and mismatched eyes, closely followed by a Ser Jaime that looked as if he rather be somewhere else. 

“Your Grace.” Lord Tyrion was bowing to the King, with a slight misstep, that probably meant he was drunk. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

King Rhaegar seemed unfazed. 

“Lord Tyrion. We have been waiting for you. Welcome to King’s Landing.”

The tiny lord occupied a seat that had been reserved for him, between Rhaenys and Bran, and started pouring more wine. Aegon stared at Ser Jaime in silent demand, and the knight raised both shoulders, frowning. 

The prince had clearly underestimated Lord Tyrion’s capability for inebriation, and everyone else seemed to be realizing the very same thing. 

“My Lord. Perhaps you want some water instead?” Lord Stark said tactfully.

“Oh, Lord Stark! Or should I say my Lord Hand? The people of King’s Landing have plenty of opinions about you.” 

“I am sure everyone does, from Sunspear to the Wall.”

“They say that you are only for show. And that _you_ are the real thing. The Hand in all but name.”

Lord Tyrion was pointing his finger directly at Aegon. 

“I am involved in matters, as the Crown Prince should. But Lord Stark is the Hand of the King, make no mistake.” 

Maybe he had been wrong. Meeting the dwarf of Casterly Rock was not fun, nor was it interesting. Aegon was already halfway decided to throw him back to some brothel and forget it.

“Oh please, will you shut it?” Lady Olenna’s good will vanished. “We were having a fine enough time before you started spewing nonsense.”

“The Queen of Thorns! There you are!” Tyrion raised his goblet with a smile, for nothing seemed capable of deterring his mood. “What a delightful collection of people you have here, Your Grace. All that is missing is your ever misbehaving little brother.”

“Prince Viserys is a man grown, and not to be kept on a leash. You, on the other hand, seem to be sent around wherever Lord Tywin commands.”

His father’s voice was monotone, and Aegon knew it meant danger. He started to grow nervous, as the entire night was about to be ruined before it even started. Lord Tyrion’s smile only grew, and it looked slightly maniacal.

“I am a second son. A third child, rather, and I am sure Prince Daeron and Ser Loras can relate. I only serve my family well.”

“Then you would be of no use at my city.”

He could not believe his own ears. His father was usually measured, yet somehow had chosen that particular night to be blunt, and Aegon was scrambling for a way to salvage the conversation, when the food started to be served as if on cue. He and Daeron exchanged worried looks.

It was quiet as the plates were filled, and he was ready to say something mild, perhaps a comment about the venison, when Aegon heard a gasp.

Dany, seated across from him, had grown very pale at the sight of meat, a hand against her mouth, in panic.

“Excuse me, I don’t feel well.”

His aunt raised from the chair without waiting for a reply, and all but ran away. He should have antecipated it, and held his brother back, yet Daeron was going after Daenerys before Aegon could even move a finger. 

It was so fast, but his mind snapped into a singular, immediate fear that made him grow as ghastly as Dany, and he saw it reflected in Rhaenys’ expression. 

_She can’t be. Not now. No._

Everyone was watching them leave, and Lord Tyrion’s eyes were glinting with conjectures, as he appeared to have an identical suspicion.

“That is terrible. I do hope the princess is able to return.”

He could not even bring himself to appreciate Margaery’s attempt at levity. If Aegon was right, they were well and truly past a mere disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aegon’s theme is S6 “Reign”, cause he’s a badass good guy
> 
> on another note, for clarification, my plan is to update this beast every sunday :)


	19. XIX. Rhaenys

# XIX. Rhaenys

It was the longest feast of her entire life. Being seated right next to a drunk dwarf that also happened to be a Lannister was not helpful either. 

Daeron had returned after a few moments, and told them that Dany did not feel well enough to come back, and had gone to bed. Rhaenys studied her brother’s northern features to try and find out if he was hiding something, yet he looked perfectly calm, in contrast to her fear.

_Is it possible that the thought has not even crossed his mind?_

She, Aegon and probably everyone else at the table, aside from the children, had arrived at the same conclusion. Pregnant. Dany was likely pregnant. Of course, it was possible too that she had some sickness that meant nothing, but that wouldn’t be anyone’s first guess. 

Their father behaved with exemplary tranquility, so much so that Rhaenys was not even entirely sure that he had suspected anything, and so she tried to imitate him to the best of her ability, even if she just wanted to ask Daeron right away.

To her, it was very important to bring Viserys back. They had changed a lot, and their love was no longer the same, but Rhaenys still had a fond place for him in her heart, and she needed to try. 

Yet if he knew that the only wife he’d accept was already pregnant, and worse still, with Daeron’s child, Rhaenys knew there was no way Viserys would return. He could even claim the Iron Throne from Dragonstone, and they would be at war with one another once more.

After what felt like forever, her father finally called an end to the torture. As he bid their guests goodnight, he gestured subtly towards Rhaenys, and so she moved closer to him, her brothers following as well, as their father guided them away from the Queen’s Ballroom, followed closely by Ser Arthur, Ser Jaime and Ser Gerold.

They went inside the King’s chambers, and settled on the attached solar, seating next to each other, the guards by the door, while their Lord Commander moved as if he was Rhaegar’s shadow, for her father was pacing the room, and the entire situation made Rhaenys even more concerned. 

“Daeron.” Her father said quietly. “What is wrong with Daenerys?”

Again, her brother did not seem to grasp it, grey eyes showing confusion more than anything else. 

“I am not sure. She wasn’t feeling well this morning, and I convinced her to see a maester, but she only wants the one at Dragonstone.”

“Have you considered she may be pregnant?”

“What? She can’t be.”

“Why not?” Rhaenys spoke as quietly as their father, numb with the implications. “You are lovers, it is known. This is what happens.”

Daeron stayed quiet then, also realizing their issue. He rested both elbows on his knees, face on his hands, clearly overwhelmed. 

“I would marry her, of course. We have wanted this for a long time.”

“And while that would solve the matter of the legitimacy of the child, it would only worsen our separation from Viserys.” Aegon answered.

“We have been walking on the tips of our toes to please Viserys for years. We have given him too much power over us. It must come to an end, sooner rather than later.”

Rhaenys did not entirely disagree with Daeron. But the situation was so very delicate, she could not think of a way out that did not hurt their family as a result, which was exactly why they always hesitated before taking definitive action. 

“I can not afford to have my brother claiming the Throne. Even if no one followed him, it would make me look weak. A king of Seven Kingdoms that is not even capable of controlling his own household.” 

“We should go to Dragonstone regardless.” Rhaenys insisted. “Daenerys needing to see the maester is as good of an excuse as any, and her presence will help convince him to return. He doesn’t have to know if she is pregnant, and perhaps we could use the time to come to an agreement.”

“And what agreement would that be?” Daeron’s expression was guarded. “To Viserys, me and Aegon are nothing more than obstacles. The only thing he would want is to get rid of us.”

“That is not true! He loves us, you know he does.” 

Aegon held her hand.

“I don’t doubt he has loved us. But I would not bet this love is more important than all of his ambitions."

"Father. You must see what I see.”

“I understand. Viserys was always the closest to you, and I raised him as my own child, as your older brother. In my heart, I want to believe as you do, Rhaenys. I want our family to be united. Yet nothing I have ever offered to Viserys was enough for him. He desires only what he can not have.” 

“Then what can we do? Daenerys is not a thing to be given away. And the Throne is Aegon’s, by birth and merit.” Daeron felt passionately about the topic, and it showed.

“I could give him my title.” Aegon was studying the palm of her hand as he spoke. “The Prince of Dragonstone is the traditional title of the heir apparent, but it wasn’t always. Daeron the Drunken, for example, preferred to be styled the Prince of Summerhall. Perhaps if I gave him the castle and title, he would feel more relevant.”

“It is yours. You are the eldest son of the King.” Daeron placed his hand on top of Rhaenys’ and Aegon’s, leaning on his seat. “Egg. You would be sacrificing an important symbol of your power. It would be a mistake. Viserys would have the seat of our House as a victory over us, and still not be satisfied.”

“Perhaps we should try, and find him a wife.” Ser Gerold suggested from behind them. 

“There are not many families left with Valyrian blood, and even among those, none of their daughters are exactly a princess of Westeros.” Her father sounded incredibly tired as he leaned against the wall. 

Rhaenys enjoyed the warmth of being between both of her brothers, it was the first moment since the feast that made her feel safe. And she hated her next words. 

“ _I_ am a princess of Westeros. I realize that my mother is Dornish and that I look like her the most. Yet my blood is still the blood of the dragon. And I know Viserys would never hurt me. Daenerys and Daeron belong to each other already, but I belong only to myself.”

Aegon and Daeron turned to face her immediately, both looking horrified. 

“You can not do this.” Her youngest brother always looked cool on the outside, yet Rhaenys could see the intense fire simmering on his eyes. “Viserys has always been prone to rage. He has belittled you before, as he’s done to me. He would come to resent you, he would turn against you. I can’t lose you while you try to protect us. Rhaenys, you would be protecting my heart at too high a cost. You and Aegon.”

The princess felt her chest constrict. It was always a little more difficult with Daeron, but they loved each other. Her brother was blameless in what happened, and they navigated their differences in the name of that love. She touched his cheek, and he clasped that hand as well, keeping her near. Rhaenys felt how coarse his face had become through the years, dawning on her that he was no longer a child, with his bouncy black curls running around the Keep. They had grown too fast.

“You are right. Daenerys is not a thing to be given away. For our family, I could do this. It is not as if I am waiting for perfect love. But you have it, and you deserve it. I am strong enough to protect myself.”

“My child.” Her father had crouched down, his deep indigo eyes searching hers. “My first child. Don’t settle on this idea just yet. My brother is much more like our father than I would want to admit, and I could never have you suffering as my mother once did. Let us all not take harsh actions before knowing all the details.”

King Rhaegar kissed her forehead, and left three scrolls on her knees, two with the all black seal of the Night’s Watch, and another, with the sigil of her mother. Her brothers released her hands, and Rhaenys opened the one from Dorne, while Aegon and Daeron took the others. 

“I intended on having this conversation only tomorrow, with Dany present as well, but since we are here, it is best that you all understand the things we face.”

“The Baratheons should have been punished with death.” Rhaenys whispered. “I know what you will say, father. The Mad King, the unstable state of your reign. But who would really accuse you of being cruel or mad for responding treason according to the laws of Westeros?”

“After all the blood and death I helped my father bring about, after taking Robert Baratheon’s life personally, and losing Lyanna and my mother, I was tired. Tired of killing, of showing no mercy. I wanted to change our course. Call it another one of my mistakes, if you will.”

They had that discussion before, and because it meant nothing at that point in time, Rhaenys simply exchanged scrolls with her brothers in silence, taking one from the Wall.

“What we have with the Baratheons are mere suspicions.” Aegon said. “The news from the brothers of the Watch seem much worse.”

“So you believe it then?” Ser Arthur questioned, looking troubled. “In living dead corpses?”

“What good could the Lord Commander do by lying? And our uncle, by confirming an easily verifiable story?” Aegon shook his head. “I don’t want to believe, but it can’t go unchecked either. We can not bury our heads in the sand somewhere and forget it.”

“Living corpses as in the Others?” Ser Gerold was baffled. “As in the stories they tell in the North to scare small children?”

“Precisely.” 

Her father’s sharp, ready answer made Rhaenys realize that he did not sound as shocked as everyone else, in ways that the mere message from a raven some time prior could not account for.

“Father. Did you already know this was going to happen? Was this one of the prophecies you enjoy going over so much? Even we always wondered about your efforts towards the Night’s Watch, your visit to the Wall.”

“It was something me and Maester Aemon feared for many years. The Long Night. The Prince That Was Promised. Even if it did not come to pass during my reign, I wanted the Realm to be as ready as possible. I wanted you to be safe, and perhaps continue my efforts after I was gone. But it seems I’ll live enough to see it.”

The idea made a chill run down her spine.

“There are too many fronts.” Daeron said in frustration. “Viserys, the Baratheons, The North. There is a wedding to take place, and if Daenerys is pregnant, another. And that is not mentioning the usual issues that come from ruling the Realm, daily. We need to start sorting through these problems now. I want to start with Viserys.”

“No one can tell if Daenerys is pregnant just by looking, there is no risk. She sees the maester and we bring Viserys back.” Rhaenys wanted to convince their father immediately. “Whatever the offer is going to be, it is best that we have him home, where we can watch him more closely. Maybe being with us again will soften his impulses. We can not allow Viserys to continue to go over his bad feelings towards us alone in that castle.”

“I’ll go with you.” Daeron shook his head when Rhaenys opened her mouth to protest. “I know seeing me won’t be exactly the best, but I don’t want you to be alone. Besides, if Dany is pregnant, I should be there too.”

Her brother smiled shyly, a slight glint of wonder and happiness in his eyes, and Rhaenys saw that in their worries, they had forgotten that, when it came down to it, Daenerys could be carrying new life, a new member of their family. They had forgotten that such a pregnancy should bring them joy, just as people who loved each other. 

“Oh, Daeron. If she is pregnant, I will be so happy for the two of you.” She hugged her brother, and he kissed the top of her head. 

Aegon raised from his seat, and he and their father moved to be closer, both smiling softly, and King Rhaegar ruffled Daeron’s hair. 

“All of us will be. Our House will grow once more, and this child should know nothing but love.” 

It reminded Rhaenys of being really young, when her father would sit her on his knees, with their family gathered around, and he would sing to them and tell stories. It was as warm as back then. 

A loud bang on the door made them all jump in the most unbecoming of ways, followed by insistent sniffing and scratching, making the door on the far end shake. Both Ser Gerold and Ser Jaime raised their swords, preparing, when Daeron raised from their embrace, gesturing towards the knights.

“Stop. It sounds like one of the direwolves. You can not harm any of them.”

“Your Grace.” Ser Gerold did not back down. “I can not let you simply open the door, you could be wrong.”

“Then open the door yourself, you’ll see I’m right.”

The kingsguard only opened it slightly, to look outside, but a massive white snout intruded in the small space, forcing it to widen at once. The white wolf, Ghost, went straight for her brother, tugging on his hand, to earn pats on his large head. Rhaenys had seen the direwolves a few times since their arrival with the Starks, and was still in awe of how such big creatures could manage to be so graceful and quiet. 

She wanted to see more and touch all of them, but only had managed the courage to do so with Daeron and Ghost. Rhaenys didn't really dislike any of the Starks, but unlike the way she was with her brother, she had the tendendy to cling to a childish reserved attitude around them, a defensive stance that she had taken early on, as if behaving that way would show her mother that Rhaenys loved her, that she was on Princess Elia's side.

It was a pattern she wished to leave behind, now that she was a grown woman, yet could not seem to break out from. 

"One more thing." Her father caught their attention again. "Rhaenys. I have been thinking for a while, and have now started to change things around me. Which is why I wanted to ask if you will accept a position in the Small Council."

"Me? Why not Aegon?" She was shocked and pleased all at once. 

"Aegon doesn't really need another title to say every little thing that crosses his mind, and I appreciate it. But you are a firm person who is not affraid to go against me. You are someone I can trust to be there, instead of just giving something away to another petty Lord. If we are to face all of our issues, I want others to respect you whenever you speak in this direct way of yours."

Rhaenys realized that, as a princess, all she ever was to everyone else was a broodmare to be sold away to whoever ranked higher. It did not matter that she was strong, or capable, or an heir to the Iron Throne. She was an unmarried woman that made people whisper that there was something wrong with her. 

No one would dare think such a thing of Queen Visenya when she took the strongholds of the Kings of Westeros atop Vhagar, or of Queen Nymeria when she conquered Dorne. Yet somehow, Rhaenys, who was blood of their blood, had been trapped in such a position. The question was already answered. 

"Yes, father. It would be an honor." 

She knew it would take work to make the men sitting the Council to see her as her family did, but Rhaenys didn't mind. She needed the exertion. King Rhaegar studied the face of his daughter very seriously. 

"Think before giving yourself away to Viserys. You are so much greater than that. I will not keep you from it if you decide to proceed. Just know we can do something else."

"We can feed him to Ghost." Daeron said it as a serious possibility.

"That is more the kind of suggestion I fancy." Ser Jaime muttered in response, and Aegon laughed.

"Don't worry, I have not forgotten."

"Go to sleep, my sweets. If Daenerys agrees in the morning, then you will have to leave at once. The sooner you return, the better."

"It is the right thing to do, father." Rhaenys was sure of it, and proud to have finally won the argument. 

"Before you go." Ser Arthur stepped ahead, and her father sat back, watching his old friend with an amused expression, probably knowing what he was going to say. "The Keep is becoming more crowded with visitors and their retinues with each passing day, and it only tends to worsen. My duty is to keep my King alive, but I would rather see all of you to an old age. So no more going around the castle by yourselves late into the night, or sneaking around. And I would request that you always have at least a few guards when leaving your chambers. Especially the two of you."

The Sword of the Morning pointed to each of Rhaenys' brothers.

"Excuse me?" Aegon seemed offended.

"Your Grace, with respect, don't think I am not aware of where you've been." 

"Do not worry, Ser. It seems I am still the only one you can trust to have some wits around here." Rhaenys said with an air of fake smugness, and Egg was the only one who didn't appear to find it funny, until he cracked a reluctant smile.

"I want to take Ghost outside first, see if he would like to go for a hunt. I haven't figured out a routine with him yet." Daeron was lost in thought, staring at his wolf's blood red eyes. 

"Can I come with you?" Rhaenys asked.

"I will watch over them." Ser Gerold said, looking at his Lord Commander, before leading them out.

They walked in silence for a while, only their footsteps echoing in the empty halls, with Ghost between them, and the White Bull behind. Daeron was absentmindedly running his fingers on his companion's thick fur.

"You deserve it." He said suddenly. "The Small Council, I mean. I have never been one for politics, but you see through deception better than most. It'll keep you alive."

"Thank you. I am not sure how well it will be received, but everything I do is scrutinized anyway."

"We are happy, your mother will be too. It's what matters."

Rhaenys was always being told she accepted no nonsense from anybody, but Daeron was even more straightforward, not ashamed of what he did or who he was. It was easy to be candid when they were alone.

"When mother arrives, nothing changes, alright? Even if I act in that stupid way of mine, I don't mean it. I just want her to feel at home, but I am also trying not to be a little girl in search of her approval anymore."

"If my mother was alive, I would want her to accept me too. I would do stupid things to make sure she loved me."

"She has loved you already, before anyone else ever did."

Daeron took her hand and placed it on the back of Ghost's neck, as if he knew what she thought before. Rhaenys stroked the direwolf for a moment, but then Ghost started to rumble deep in his throat, a menacing sound that made her worry and flinch away.

"I think he doesn't like me." 

"What? Of course he does, he has been with you before."

The air grew suddenly colder, and moving faster than she believed possible, the wolf turned around, snarling, towards the direction they had been coming from, and Ser Gerold raised his sword in reflex, Rhaenys herself searching for her spear before remembering that she was dressed for a feast.

Ghost flung his body towards Daeron, knocking him down, all so quickly it was almost as if it didn't happen. Ser Gerold reacted faster, moving to help, but instead he screamed loudly and a hot liquid splashed over Rhaenys' face in a second. Blood. Fresh, thick blood that covered her cheek and eyes, and the princess felt like screaming as well, but was too frozen in place to do it.

The snarl of the wolf, the only sound she had ever heard from him, was pained and it made her snap, catching Ser Gerold as he started to fall. Rhaenys looked up then, in the same direction as Ghost, and through her blurry vision, she could barely make out a silhouette. A shadow, with eyes that seemed to know her.


	20. XX. Stannis

# XX. Stannis

Throughout his exile, Stannis had thought plenty about how to escape and take back the seat of his family, even before he had consciously decided to act against the Crown, almost as if he could be satisfied to live out the rest of his days inside his own mind, where he had the courage to do it, where he would prove his worth once and for all. 

And now it seemed all those years of careful planning would finally amount to a conquest in his reality. 

While the stag had been always at least somewhat confident in his ability to succeed, for many years he also had to struggle with his own honor, and his sense of right and wrong. Rhaegar had won his right to the Iron Throne, and what he had offered long ago was stupid, but it was also absolution. 

“We are family, after all, cousin”, were the words the King used then.

Family. It was easy to forget, but Aegon the Conqueror had taken Westeros with Orys Baratheon by his side. Aegon had gifted the Stormlands to his best friend, that many believed to be his bastard brother, and their families had lived side by side for almost as long as the Seven Kingdoms had existed.

It was truly strange that Rhaegar should be the one to remind Stannis of their connection, when he was the reason Stannis' parents had perished in the sea, so close to home yet so far away, on their futile quest to find Rhaegar a wife, only for Rhaegar to turn around later, and take Robert's bride, and spark the war and blood and tragedy that would eventually destroy Stannis' whole life. 

Honor could only take a man so far.

He was the true heir of House Baratheon, and Stannis could not allow his family name to die after him. Renly did not seem interested at all in the existence of females, and Stannis himself could not say that he took much pleasure in his marital role, having only one child, a girl, that could very well not live to her adulthood. 

If he were to die, Stannis would have wanted it to be when Rhaegar had him kneeling in front of his awful Throne, or in the battlefield. He could accept his fate in that way. But laying down on some forgotten patch of land until time itself took his life was unbecoming of his nature, and of a Lord of Storm's End. 

He knew there was no hope in expecting any help from Lannisters or Tyrells, and that it was unlikely that Jon Arryn would rise again. After all, he had paid, but not nearly as much as Stannis had. There was no one to count on other than himself, and Stannis embraced the fact that taking action would most likely lead to death. He found some comfort in it.

It had taken Stannis over a moon to set his plan in motion. 

The patrols the Martells would send had developed a predictable routine over the years, only coming by twice each moon, and with so much time having passed, even they did not find the Baratheons and their smuggler friend to be a real threat anymore. But he had memorized their pattern, and knew how long it took between one visit and another. Enough to take Storm's End before they noticed he was gone.

If the eldest Baratheon was not perceived as menacing, his brother was even less so, and not much was thought of his whereabouts, making Renly the perfect person to send ahead with Ser Davos, to find Stannis a vessel, with which he was going to take his real home by the best route, the sea.

Storm’s End was one of the strongest castles in Westeros. It existed long before House Baratheon did, built by the Storm Kings with what many believed to be magic, for the one massive tower that comprised most of the stronghold, and the smooth giant outer walls that protected it seemed to not have suffered at all from the assaults of the sea against its structure since the Age of Heroes. 

Taking the castle where he grew up was no easy task: as far as most were concerned, the only way in was through the main gates, taking the King’s Road, for everywhere else Storm’s End was surrounded by Shipbreaker Bay, with no safe anchorage. 

But the castle had its secrets, and one of them was a passage underneath it, on the seaward side. The passage was usually blocked and meant to be protected against invaders, yet Stannis was no such thing. 

He realized he was at least watched on some level, and that he could not risk trying to send ravens personally. Yet he risked one, through Renly, for he had sent his brother to Blackhaven, seat of House Dondarrion, the closest reliable family at the Dornish Marches, so that Maester Cressen would know when to open the passage.

As Stannis suspected, House Dondarrion and most likely all other stormlords were more than willing to respond to his call. Their people was a proud one, and House Baratheon commanded their true loyalty in ways that House Connington could never hope to, especially not after the Rebellion. 

Initially, Stannis planned to take the castle from Ser Ronald Connington, the castellan that served while Jon himself lived at King’s Landing as Hand of the King, yet something had happened that was completely outside of Stannis’ plans and foresight: Jon Connington had suddenly taken residence at Storm’s End, as Ser Davos had reported on his return. 

That could only mean that Rhaegar had grown suspicious, but had nothing substantial enough to take more direct action. It made acting at the right time even more crucial. He would not allow Jon to take root, and to try to be seen as the rightful Lord Paramount.

So when Renly and Ser Davos returned on a small vessel, the remaining Baratheons had taken the journey along Cape Wrath immediately. 

Summer was ending rapidly, yet the sea was not as unruly as Stannis and Ser Davos had anticipated. The trip had been somewhat without incident for most of the days, and his wife and Shireen had taken it as well as possible, but Renly was not as fit for the waters.

“If we die, what was the point?” His brother demanded, not for the first time, while a light rain began again, as they neared Shipbreaker Bay.

“Would you rather die in shame? If we live, we take back what is ours.”

“And then what? Will you really attack Rhaegar? I have told you that many times before, and you have never agreed.”

“I have not agreed to expect support from the Tyrells. And you are foolish if you are still waiting on it.”

“How is attacking on our own any less foolish?”

“We may actually win. Especially with a swift attack by the sea.”

Renly’s expression told Stannis that he did not believe it, and Stannis was not so sure he did either. Yet he could not say that a significant part of him was just content in taking action, finally. He did not love war the way Robert once did, but he was also not made for peaceful defeat. 

“We will be there soon enough.” Ser Davos interrupted, looking ahead.

In that moment, Stannis could see his home for the first time in almost twenty years, the enormous drum tower emerging as if it were a fist challenging the Gods, and having been so hollow inside for so long he could barely understand the many emotions going through his body at the mere sight. Renly came to stand beside him, also looking on quietly. 

“I did not realize how much I missed this place.” It was a rare occurrence, but the Baratheon brothers were in complete agreement.

It was the exact point in which their parents had been lost. But here they were, at dusk, and the wind was quiet. What they would have to deal with instead were the many rocks surrounding Storm’s End.

“This is gonna get tricky!” Ser Davos called.

The vessel was small and swift for that very reason, and Davos was the most qualified person Stannis knew to navigate those waters, so he and Renly held on to the rails as they neared Storm’s End, trying to spot any guards atop the walls, even if that was not so common, for in times of peace, there was a tendency to rely on the ruthless waters as an effective barrier. And Stannis was about to explore every weakness he knew.

Their transport was also small enough to enter the hidden passage. The sun was sinking faster on the sky, and it grew even darker, which was at once good and bad. It helped them to stay hidden, but also made it harder to navigate. 

“There!” Renly pointed ahead, to the subtle entrance that could very well go unnoticed by most people. “It is open!”

It was. Cressen had been true to Stannis as he had for so many years before, and his heart stirred just a little more, like he had been dead ever since leaving this place, and now he could at last breath more easily. Whatever came afterwards as worth that feeling.

The passage was tight, dark and humid, and Stannis told the women to continue bellow deck, until they had reached the end of the tunnel. It ended on a small pool of water, with torches on the walls illuminating the place. A figure was by the stairs, holding a torch of his own that trembled slightly, and Stannis felt a genuine smile form on his face.

He went down as soon as their vessel touched the stony edge, until he was face to face with Maester Cressen. 

“My Lord. Welcome home.” His voice was kind and warm, his expression pleased. 

It was the first time in a long while that Stannis felt no need to correct someone for calling him a Lord. He held the Maester by the shoulders. 

“It feels good to be home.”

“Maester Cressen. Your loyalty will be rewarded.” Renly had descended from the vessel with Shireen by his side, his wife following behind. His daughter seemed scared, and hesitant. 

“My girl, it is so good to see you.” Cressen touched the side of her face that was forever frozen by the greyscale with no fear, and she smiled just slightly. 

_Such a sad child. Such a sad life. Always sad._ Stannis tried not to dwell on it.

“Where is he?” He demanded at once. “The bastard that tries to rule from my seat.” 

Cressen sighed.

“Lord Jon is preparing for a feast tonight. He has invited the Stormlords to celebrate his arrival, as he plans on staying indefinitely. Lord Ned Stark is the new Hand of the King.”

Fury. That replaced every other feeling Stannis had just a moment earlier, and it was good to let it flow through his body in waves of anger that made him sharp as a sword. 

“Should I be surprised? He is a traitor just as always. He never believed in anything, never even loved Robert as he claimed. Ned Stark left us to rot the moment he heard of his damn sister, and now sits the Iron Throne whenever Rhaegar isn’t around, doing his biding, betraying our family even after Robert’s death. Mark my words, I will make justice myself.”

“Then let us start by killing Jon.” Renly was confident, cocky even, as he offered Stannis a sword, which he took. 

“Does he have many guards?” Stannis inquired. 

“Not nearly enough. It is hard for him to trust his own people, and the men from Griffin’s Roost and the ones that came from King’s Landing are divided between here and the seat of House Connington. They are mostly gathered at the main entrance, for the Lords are arriving.”

“I should take him before the feast begins.” Stannis’ resolve hardened. “Thank you, Maester Cressen. You have been a true friend. Stay here with Davos and the rest of my family. If anything goes wrong, you must flee.”

“Nothing will go wrong.” Renly said assuredly. "I will be right after you."

In that moment, he sealed his fate. Stannis looked at the last people that meant something to him, and took the long stairs that lead up, into the massive tower. 

The Round Hall was a grand place, where the feast would certainly happen, and they could hear the sound of the many men already gathered. It was located bellow the lord's chambers, making it hard to avoid on their way to Jon Connington. 

Yet he and Renly knew the castle rather well, even the strange little nooks that no one ever felt the need to go to, and they used that to keep to the shadows for the most part. They were dressed simply, but their faces were probably easy to recognize if they stood still for too long, so they kept a brisk pace.

Stannis’ fingers kept flexing around the hilt of the sword attached to his hip, concealed under layers of fabric, as the tension continued building on his chest. This was a moment he had barely allowed himself to dream about over the last years, and that made it feel as if it was happening way too suddenly.

Lord Tywin’s letter had been a strange occurrence. Filled with veiled intentions, it carried no promise of an alliance or even the man’s true motivations, yet it did not matter. The purpose was probably only one, that Stannis could not help but fulfill: to remind him that the world kept existing and that he still held the power to affect it. That even if he failed and died, it should be on his own terms. 

The brothers stopped by a dark corner, close to the chambers. Two large guards were standing by the door, clealy men of House Connington. 

"I will take the one to the left". Stannis whispered. "Be quick."

He did not wait for Renly's answer, moving ahead in a fast, silent movement, sword raised for a clean cut across the guard's throat, to keep him from screaming. As he turned, it was to catch the gory sight of the tip of Renly's sword protruding from the neck of the other one, body halfway turned towards Stannis before being brutally killed. A pool of blood was forming by their feet.

"Perhaps we should try and hide the bodies." Stannis noted detachedly.

"Or we can do this."

Renly used his full weight to force the door open, which was not part of Stannis' plan, and strode inside taking the dead guard with him, pulled by the collar, making a nasty trail of blood. His brother was not usually so brash, but there was little time to think on it.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Stannis entered as well, and there he was. Lord Jon Connington, with his massive red beard and clear blue eyes, recognizable even as his hair turned grey. 

He was dressed in fine clothes, in the red and white of his House, and its roaring griffins, and the image helped to stoke the flames of Stannis' anger. Jon had served Robert bitterly and ungratefully, and now stood in a place that belonged only to the stags, looking as proud as ever.

Renly dropped the body unceremoniously at Jon's feet.

"Isn't it obvious? You should have really told your precious king to kill us."

Jon focused his attention on Stannis instead of answering Renly.

"You lost. King Rhaegar won the throne in battle. And while I was never happy to serve your brother, at least you always had decency and honor. Or has even that left you?"

"Do not mention Robert, you do not have the right." Stannis took measured steps forward. "And it is truly ironic to hear you speak of honor when you refused the call of your liege lord and helped our enemy to kill the men of your own lands. All to your own advantage. Has it felt good to hold all you stole from House Baratheon?"

The griffin visibly carried no weapons, but did not seem worried, for the years had not softened his pride and confidence. 

"I answered the call of my King, and I was rewarded for my loyalty to the Iron Throne, while you have been punished for your betrayal. Nothing was stolen."

"Then you might as well also take this betrayal." 

Renly twisted the sword artfully, preparing a killing blow, but Stannis touched his arm, confusing his brother. The rightful Lord of Storm's End measured Jon coldly. 

"I believe you should attend your own feast one last time, Lord Connington."

The younger Baratheon understood quickly, and took hold of their prisioner, sword firmly against his neck, and Stannis approached, holding the end of Jon's luxurious red cape, and tearing a large piece of fabric, while his eyes seemed to boil over in rage.

"Even if you kill me, King Rhaegar shall have your head in less than a moon."

Stannis allowed only the smallest of smiles in response, that really was full of scorn. He gagged the damn fool. 

And this time, as they walked back to the Round Hall, there was no hiding, making the servants quickly scatter as soon as they understood what they were seeing, screaming. Stannis stayed behind Renly, making sure they would not be attacked, and when they entered the large hall, silence started to settle slowly.

The room still contained the large dais where the throne of the Storm King stood, and Stannis walked towards it while the whispers seemed to surround him. 

He turned around to look at the crowd of stormlords, all too stuned to react, while Jon's men had their swords raised, yet seemed unclear on what to do. He would make a decision on their behalf in a moment.

"My Lords." His voice projected over the space. "You have been called to receive the Lord of Storm's End to his home today. And that is exactly what is happening.”

Renly made Jon Connington fall to his knees, turned to their guests, and the energy in the room seemed to change. His uncle, Lord Eldon Estermont, came closer to the dais, and there was fire in his eyes, even in his old age. He kneeled in front of Stannis, and the stormlords followed, almost in awe. Stannis had returned from death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, full transparency, this chapter was really hard. While I had an outline for some time, it contains a lot of stuff I'm not familiar with/don't usually write about, and also Stannis is a strange POV for me - I like trying to see things his way, but it just doesn't flow so naturally as others. 
> 
> I'm not totally happy with how it turned out, but my perfectionism isn't taking me anywhere, so I decided to post already. Hope it doesn't suck too much


	21. XXI. Daenerys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I went missing, lots of things, good and bad, have happened over the last few months, aside from the whole world being almost on fire. I hope this can be a nice distraction, even if it makes you angry, sad or both, and that you are as safe as possible wherever you are :)

# XXI. Daenerys

She didn’t really need a maester to tell her what was happening in her body. Dany had realized it that very morning, when she had been truly nauseous for the first time. After Daeron left, her handmaidens had come shortly after and she saw one of them laying a cup of tea at the table, with a knowing smile.

Moon tea.

The last time she had the tea was before leaving for Highgarden. During the period she and Daeron had been apart, she had not continued the habit, for there was no need. Upon returning home, it was forgotten, swept away by her family, their worries and her lover. He was always with her ever since.

Fleetingly, she thought of drinking it. Daenerys had always wanted a family of her own, and being pregnant would finally convince Rhaegar to allow her marriage to Daeron. Yet the time was terrible, and Viserys more of a worry than ever. They did not need another problem.

She realized at once she did not have the strength for it. The very idea of looking into Daeron’s grey eyes after ending the life of a child they had conceived together made her want to vomit again.

The cup remained untouched.

The rest of the day she had been on a cloud, alternating between anxiety and overwhelming happiness. Daenerys had almost told Daeron a dozen times, but kept holding back. It seemed that, so long as she was the only one to know, it wasn’t a reason to worry just yet.

It was not surprising that her family had figured it out by the next day, with her accident during the feast. Yet that seemed almost minute in comparison to the attack within their own halls.

They had lost Ser Gerold so quickly, dead in Rhaenys’ arms before any help could come. It shocked Dany to tears. He was the eldest member of the Kingsguard, and she wished he had stopped serving them before, when they asked. While not prone to religion, she did pray to the Stranger for him.

Ghost had been hurt in his efforts to protect Daeron, as her lover seemed to be the ultimate target, while Rhaenys remained unscathed. The idea made her tremble.

The siblings had told them everything that happened more than once, but it made no sense. A shadow, Rhaenys said and Daeron could not confirm it, for he had not been able to see it. A shadow had attacked the children of the King inside Maegor’s Holdfast. To Rhaegar, it sounded as something a shadowbinder of Asshai could do, yet they knew of no such person in Westeros, while to Dany the very idea of someone like that even existing sounded bizarre.

Not truly knowing was the worst part. Daeron had assured her that he was well, but the thought of someone attacking them inside their own walls, made fear rise inside her soul, even as Daenerys refused to feel it.

Even then, after a couple of days had passed, they went to Dragonstone. Her sickness had only grown worse since it started, and she needed help. Trying to reason with Viserys, on the other hand, almost made her give up.

It frightened her, the idea that their family could be that way, could believe that being a dragon meant only violence and cruelty, as her father once did. Dany was glad she never met the Mad King.

They were not riding horses, because Daeron had become so delicate with her that Daenerys was frequently torn between being annoyed and endeared by it. She could only imagine how much worse he would become once Dany was too big to see her own feet.

Rhaenys had been very quiet ever since Ser Gerold’s death, and they tried to give her time. Her indigo eyes were lost, staring at the land that passed by their windows as the sun was rapdily setting, while Daenerys and Daeron were close and silent.

Dany took her lover’s rough hand, calloused from holding his sword for many hours, and placed it on her stomach.

“I have a feeling. It is a girl.” She told him softly.

“How do you know?” He caressed her gently, and she felt protected.

“I just do. I hope she has your eyes. She will be the most beautiful girl.”

He kissed her cheek and whispered. “I would prefer if she looked just like you.”

“I want to name her.”

“Isn’t it too soon?”

Dany frowned. “Maybe. But I don’t like to have no name to call her by. It’s strange. She is as alive as I am.”

“What names are you thinking of?” Rhaenys’ voice was very smooth and quiet.

“Rhaella.” Daeron said immediately. “Lyanna. Alysanne.”

“Rhaegar told me that our mother had only one daughter before me.” Dany replied more slowly. “She never lived, but her name was Shaena. Perhaps that could be a good name. I like princess Daena too. Her spirit was strong.”

“And King Baelor was a bloody idiot.”

Daeron sounded so annoyed that it made them giggle, and the sound from Rhaenys made Daenerys very happy. She moved to sit by her niece, and rested her head on the other girl's shoulder.

“Don’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done.”

“Ghost warned us before it happened. He knew. Maybe if we had been faster, I don’t know. Ser Gerold could still be alive.” Rhaenys looked away again.

“How does one deal with a shadow that can pierce through plated armor, sister? It was so fast. I could be dead if it were not for all of you. You did what you could, and we cannot change time.”

“We can make Ser Gerold’s sacrifice mean something.” Daenerys’ resolve hardened. “We should put our family in order, and then work towards the same when it comes to this Realm. If there really is a threat to the North, we must prepare at once.”

“I do not believe it until there is proof. Until I see it. As of now, it is nothing but winds and words from the Watch. The wildlings beyond the Wall could very well be tricking them into thinking such things.”

Daeron clearly did not like his sister’s response.

“There is a reason why these stories are told in the North. They must have some truth, some reason to exist. The Watch is made up of competent men that aren’t freezing at our borders just for some wildlings throwing rocks. The Wall itself would suffice for that.”

“Please, stop acting as if you know the North so fucking well. You are not a northerner, if anything, you are more Dornish than I am. You’re a perfumed southern prince just like the rest of us.”

Rhaenys’ strange outburst felt like a slap, and the siblings stared at each other tersely, before the princess lowered her head to the palms of her hands.

“I am sorry. I don’t mean that.”

Their movement stopped suddenly, and Ser Barristan appeared by the small opening to speak to them.

“Your Graces. We have arrived.”

Daeron’s expression was somewhat cold, but he simply nodded and moved to leave, stopping by the open passage to offer Dany a hand. She was at a loss for words, but tugged on Rhaenys’ arm anyway, so they would move together.

Dragonstone was probably an odd place for most people. Even some of their own did not like to be there, for the castle had a foreboding appearance created by the dark stone and many, many dragons wherever she looked, a place built with the secrets used in Old Valyria itself, to house a family of dragonlords.

Daenerys loved every inch of it.

It was the place where she came into the world, where she was called Stormborn. While the Red Keep was their home in most ways, she felt peace at the island. Daenerys wondered if it would really go to Viserys, or if perhaps she could request it for helself and her own family one day, and the very thought made her warm.

Their small retinue was lead inside, and the external environment started seeping into her internal musings, for the castle felt different from what she remembered. The guards seemed almost scared, and the few servants they passed avoided their eyes, hurrying away.

She and Daeron exchanged worried glances, letting Rhaenys walk in front of them.

Daenerys did not expect Viserys to wait for them at the gates as Rhaegar would, but receiving them at the throne room of Dragonstone seemed too much, even for him. Yet when she finally entered, when she could lay eyes on her brother, the sight brought equal measures of understanding and confusion.

Viserys looked sunken and sick. He was paler than ever, his silvery hair seemed opaque in the distance. Yet his eyes were ablaze with a maniacal fire as he surveyed his own family in silence, and his gaze seemed to settle on Daeron with unprecedented hatred and shock, that Dany could feel in her bones.

At his right side, a tall guard stood in attention, a long spear ready for any attack, as he kept his eyes locked on the Targaryens, as if they were a threat.

Something was entirely amiss.

_Was this how my father looked while seated on the Iron Throne? Did people dread his presence the way I dread my brother’s now?_

He seemed so terrible, it made Daenerys anxious to close the distance between them, and somehow help. No matter what changed, she kept his youthful, careless smiles locked in her heart fondly. Viserys was always the brother of her childhood, somewhere underneath his anger. But that day, she could not see that part of him at all.

"You stand in the presence of King Viserys of House Targaryen, Third of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, and Protector of the Realm." The guard announced.

_King._ It flowed with ease, as if it were a common fact, known to all. Daenerys started feeling sick, for all of their fears seemed to be coming true, and she watched in horror as Daeron took a step foward, blisteringly angry, only for Rhaenys to extend her arm and stop him at once.

“Uncle. We have come here to invite you to return home.” Rhaenys spoke as if nothing happened. “Your family misses you. We wish to be together again.”

Instead of the explosions she had come to expect, Viserys remained quiet, which felt worse somehow. He descended the steps of the throne until they were all level with each other.

Daenerys could sense Ser Barristan’s protectiveness behind her, and their small force tense in a tighter ring around them. She wanted to say that this was her older brother, and that their reaction was exaggerated, but found that even the idea of doing that appeared spurious.

“Your words are as pretty as they are false.” Even his voice was weakened, raspy and strange.

“Falsehoods would not bring us all the way here.” She moved closer to Viserys against her better judgement. “We wouldn’t have come simply to lie to you. Lēkia, skorion massitas?”

“What happened? You dare ask me such a thing, sister? I am simply taking my place as the rightful King of Westeros, and you should take yours as my queen.”

“We are willing to negotiate terms.” Rhaenys intervened again. “Perhaps we can find common ground.”

Viserys snickered. “You know my terms clearly. They haven’t changed. And by common ground, you must mean me giving you everything.”

“Rhaegar wants to be able to discuss it with you, in person. There is no need for conflict.” Dany tried again.

They wanted to avoid having Daeron speak at all, and Rhaenys seemed to be hoping to shield him from view with her own body, as if that could distract Viserys.

“I disagree.” His answer was almost monotone, and it made Daenerys more concerned with each passing moment. “Yet you are welcome to stay, the two of you. As for the halfbreed, I will tolerate him tonight. Afterwards, I will see him no more.”

She had to bite on her tongue to keep a sharp answer in check, and mustered instead the sweetest of voices.

“We also came to see the maester, brother, for I have not been feeling well. I hope you find that acceptable.”

Viserys seemed to soften a fraction, a break on his hard exterior, that made her heart clench with pain. He was there, still, not lost to Daenerys quite yet.

“Yes, that would be fine. Let me take you to him. I want you to stay, Dany, you know this. To be as we should.”

There was nothing that they should be besides siblings, that was certain. She held back another time, allowing just an uncompromising smile.

“I was supposed to go with you.” Daeron protested immediately, his grey eyes conveying the words he could not say in the space between them. _She is ours. Let me take care of you_.

Her eyes met Daeron's, but Viserys answered before her.

"The days when you were able to lay your paws on my sister are over, dog. You are not needed."

"Your Grace, allow me to accompany you." Ser Barristan proposed, keeping Daeron from speaking again.

"Are you implying my sister isn't safe with me, at the very seat of our House?"

"No, no one would ever say that. Please, Ser Barristan, stay with the rest of our family, and help them and our guards to settle after our journey."

Viserys offered his arm, and she took it at once, not looking back. As they walked, she could feel how very slim he had become, in a way she had never witnessed before. They had been separated for nearly four moons, yet she couldn’t grasp how he could have lost so much weight unless he had been intentionally fasting himself to death.

“Viserys, are you feeling ill?”

“Of course not. The blood of the dragon doesn’t allow it.”

“Then something else must be happening. We are alone, tell me.”

“I have simply realized that I do not need to be held back by anyone. I should take my place as King.”

The sinuous halls of Dragonstone seemed to become suffocating around Dany.

“King? Viserys. That is Rhaegar’s place, and Aegon’s after him. It is their right as the eldest sons.”

“You know as well as I do that our father removed Rhaegar and his offspring from the line of succession. He was ungrateful and threw the Realm into absolute chaos. He doesn’t deserve to hold the Throne, nor does he have the right to give it away to his unworthy children.”

Viserys’ grip on her arm grew vicious, yet she refused to give away any sign of pain.

“Sister. Don’t you see? We must marry one another, as our parents before us, and sit the Iron Throne as King Aerys desired. What Rhaegar does now is stealing from us.”

“Brother. No one cares about what the Mad King desired. He had a disgraceful reign, and his memory should be buried with him. What Rhaegar does is restore House Targaryen to its rightful course.”

They were climbing the many winding stairs, and Daenerys was starting to feel dizzy. Her brother’s iron hold was one of the few things keeping her up, whether he knew it or not. She willed her little dragon to behave, because she couldn’t afford to give herself away. Viserys suddenly stopped and pressed her to the cold wall, his taller frame caging her.

“My reign will be greater than either of them, and I will have you by my side, dear sister. You have soiled yourself with the halfbreed like a fool, but I will forgive you, because I love you. With me, you will know how it feels to be the lover of a real dragon.”

His lips were trailing her throat while he spoke, and she had to fight every urge to vomit. The dagger strapped to her hip seemed to become heavier, but thinking of her little dragon cooled her anger just enough.

“I do not have to be forgiven for anything. I am a dragon, and a dragon is not a slave.”

“Yes, and as the dragon must now be quite finished playing with it's food, it is time you become an adult.”

Her brother pulled her away from the wall and nearly dragged Daenerys over what was left of the steps, and as she recognized the enormous head of a dragon, sprouting from the door ahead, came the awful realization that she had allowed him to guide her to a trap.

"Viserys." She barely kept her voice from trembling. "The maester's chambers are at the Sea Dragon Tower. We should go back."

"Oh, do not worry, sweet sister. You will see the maester in time."

With a firm hold on her upper arm, Viserys pushed on the door with his free hand. Dany was well aware that both of her brothers were stronger and taller than her, and that she could beat neither without speed and cunning. Even then, however, she refused to simply bow. The youngest dragon threw her entire weight in the opposite direction, while grabbing her dagger in the same movement, throwing him off balance.

She'd hit him on the shoulder, the Valyrian steel would cut through muscle as if it were butter, and Viserys would have to let go, Daenerys could see it in her mind's eye. Yet somehow, he who had never been quicker than her, grabbed her wrist before the blade could strike, twisting her hand so painfully that the weapon fell with a resounding noise between them.

Viserys' pale lilac eyes were mere inches away, and she felt a deep fear the princess had not previously known.

"Wait..." Her brothers knee made sudden contact with her stomach, harshly cutting her words as she gasped for air.

He used Dany's disorientation to fling her inside the familiar room. The Painted Table. The top of the highest tower of Dragonstone, where Aegon had planned his invasion with his sisters, and where Dany and her family had been many times, seriously as adults or playing pretend as children. This was neither of those things. This was dangerous.

She protected her middle by instinct, growing frightened that her dragon had been hurt. The pain seemed to give way to the most blind hatred, as she rapidly found her footing again, planning on defending her most precious gift with bare hands as Viserys came closer after locking the door.

“Is this your wife, my King?” A sultry, foreign sounding voice reached Daenerys.

The princess looked around, and surely, behind her was a tall pale woman, dressed all in red, with long hair and a heart shaped face staring at Dany with clear interest. She did not seem to carry any weapons, but her presence brought discomfort either way.

“Not quite yet.” Her brother’s tone was quiet, victorious. “But she will be, once you have bonded us another time through blood.”

“I demand to know who you are.”

“I am Melisandre of Asshai. I am a servant of the Lord of Light, Your Grace. You carry quite a lot of fire, the Lord would be pleased by you.”

Color seemed to drain away from Dany’s face as she felt her stomach lurch again. Asshai. Could it be coincidence that a person from such a place was there, with Viserys, after they had been attacked by a shadow? Was she naive enough to believe it not to be connected?

“Viserys. I am your sister. I am a princess of Westeros, the blood of Old Valyria.” Her voice was proud and strained. “You will stop disrespecting me this moment, and we will meet our family as we’re supposed to.”

He gave no real answer aside from a cold smile. As he closed the distance between them, Dany realized he was holding her dagger, the rubies on the hilt glinting as if they were mocking her. For years, she had wielded the weapon and while she knew it to look mean and sharp, having the Valyrian steel pointed towards her gave the princess new perspective.

It could be over in a moment.

She could feel the strange woman closer to her back, and her mind was racing with thoughts. Viserys blocked the door, and the only other way out was throwing herself from the large windows surrounding the table, a fall Daenerys was unlikely to survive.

“Oh, dear sister. Don’t panic. I need you and you need me. You’re not dying today.”

He moved to take her arm, and she sidestepped her brother.

“Then what do you want from me?”

“I told you, I am marrying you. Tonight, your blood and mine will be forever bound. Afterwards we may marry in any way the Seven Kingdoms will recognize and any way the Lord of Light may require. We will take this Realm back, together.”

“Take it from whom? Ourselves? This is our family, there is nothing and no one left to fight.” Daenerys wanted to buy time, and perhaps foolishly, wanted Viserys to see what she saw. “If you could only accept that I cannot be with you, we could be as we were before. There are other women, other ambitions. Let this go.”

The only thing she seemly accomplished was to make him angrier. Yet before he could answer, the strange woman moved between them as if compelled by a force. Daenerys had been so focused on defusing the situation, she had forgotten Melisandre. Her dark eyes were round and worried, and both hands grabbed the princess’ face before she could move backwards.

“You... The fire I see. You carry life. Life for dragons. That is why you blaze so strongly. You dim everyone else.”

Dany’s world stood still. She could hear her heart thumping on her ears, the fear keeping her in place. Melisandre looked shocked and confused, as if things were getting out of control, and her hold loosened. The princess took the chance and turned fast, thinking she could use the moment of distraction to run around Viserys towards the door, but he was faster, his large hand seizing her neck as she passed.

It was the second time that day that her breathing was cut short. He should not be so strong when looking so frail, but Viserys seemed possessed, his face contorting in rage as Dany tried to kick or force his fingers away from her throat to no avail.

_Breath, you have to keep breathing now. Please. For her._

" _You useless whore!_ That Stark dog put a child in you? What good are you now, carrying his little beast? Couldn't you even avoid that, fucking cunt?"

He was getting carried away, screaming loudly enough that it would be piercing her ears, if it weren't for the fact that Daenerys' head was starting to feel foggy, and all else seemed unreal. Why had she been so foolish? Why trust him after years knowing her brother was gone? Viserys had abused her love and trust, yet she was paying. Her little girl was paying.

If her mind was functioning, maybe she could have foreseen it. Yet she only registered it as it happened.

Air entered her body suddenly, as Viserys dropped her, and she felt relief for the smallest of moments. But the most excruciating pain of her life made Daenerys wail. It hurt everywhere and nowhere at once. She couldn't understand where it came from at all, as if her body was incapable of perceiving such a terrible thing. Her hands were wet, and it took an eternity that fit in a few heartbeats for Dany to realize that it was because she was holding her stomach, feeling the hilt of her own dagger nailed to her.

She was suspended in time, the pain so unendurable, on her flesh and inside her heart, that she stopped feeling. Stopped understanding. There was Viserys, looming over her, until he wasn't. Until there was a large sword piercing his body the way he had pierced hers, and in a fit of delusion, some part of her was inclined to laugh maniacally at the irony.

Yet the greastest, largest part of her was frozen as the North. Lost forever, even as a voice Daenerys was sure she loved called for her.


	22. XXII. Daeron

# XXII. DAERON

The moment she turned her back, he knew it to be a mistake. Every instinct told him that, yet Daeron remained perfectly still as Dany took Viserys’ arm and walked away.

Such stillness was born of a lifelong learned behavior: the son of such a scandalous union should be mild in public. The prince couldn’t quite point out the moment when it happened, yet somehow, as he came of age, the duty of smoothing over every problem that could arise from his very existence had been mostly transferred to him.

As if he were to blame, for Princess Elia’s humiliation, for Viserys’ lost place, for every highborn Lord and Lady that would stare at him as if Daeron was moments away from killing Aegon in his sleep.

To him, life was a massive struggle with the wildfire that seemed perpetually ready to swallow him whole.

"Your Graces, please follow me." One of the guards of Dragonstone interrupted his thoughts. "We have strict instructions to show you to your chambers, so that you can prepare for supper."

It was a struggle he felt about to lose, but kept trying to resist regardless, for he followed Rhaenys in the opposite direction, numb, as the guard walked ahead.

Each step that went against his intuition made Daeron angrier. Every sway of Rhaenys’ dark hair put the prince a little more on edge. He was tired. Of putting on this facade for everyone else, of cutting his hair short and acting collected, of only being himself in the secrecy of their small family.

He understood his father loved him, was proud of him. Some of his fondest memories were about being with Rhaegar, listening to him talk about Daeron’s mother, the King’s words painting the most vivid image of the kind of person princess Lyanna had been. His father would always stop at some point, and truly look into Daeron’s eyes with a fervent love that matched no other and touch the young prince’s face for a moment.

“You look just like her. You cannot remember, but Lyanna loved you very much, son. Just as much as I love you.”

Yet there was no denying – Daeron’s very presence was the source of so much friction, the kind not even a child could be entirely oblivious to. Rhaegar tried to soften the blow, and Aegon’s and Daenerys’ giving nature made the bond between them natural, fast. He was loved. And that was exactly why he put so much effort into being good enough.

The one transgression he had allowed was Daenerys herself. She was not meant for him, yet he reached for her still. To have her, he could cast away almost anything, so captivated by her flames that he could not do what was proper. Yet at that moment, Daeron was being a coward even when it came to her. He was too afraid.

_I love you. Be a dragon, Daeron._

He stopped walking.

Their own guards, five of them, stopped as well at his back, waiting. Rhaenys stayed put a few steps forward and turned to look at her brother over her shoulder. Her eyes were sharp, guilty.

“What are we doing? How far are we willing to go to please Viserys? This is ridiculous."

“We should look for Her Grace. I do not trust any of this.” Ser Barristan spoke.

“I agree. Let’s separate.” Daeron looked at the guard Viserys had sent to guide them. “You. Where are Viserys’ chambers?”

“Excuse me, Your Grace, but Prince Viserys gave very specific instructions...”

“I am Prince Daeron of House Targaryen. The moment I walked through those doors, your loyalty belonged to me. Do not defy me.”

The guard was clearly a young lad, and his fear became very easy to see. Daeron was not usually this way, and, for a moment, his tone unsettled even him. However, just as quickly, he had moved past it.

“His Grace is staying at The Windwyrm.”

“Very well. Move along if you do not wish to get in trouble.”

The boy scurried away.

“I will go to his chambers.” Rhaenys said.

“Ser Barristan, go to the maester, there is a possibility of Viserys actually keeping his word when it comes to Dany. I’ll see the Painted Table.”

He and Rhaenys knew it was their favorite place in the whole castle, a place they would inevitably wander to as if a force pulled them. It had to be an option.

“Try other places in the towers you go to, and if nothing comes of it, meet me back at the Throne Room. They can’t be too far. Three of you, come with me.” Daeron directed the guards at his back.

Ser Barristan and Rhaenys complied, and Daeron did not linger for another moment. As soon as it was decided, he took off running. He could hear the guards behind him suddenly trying to match his pace, but he only made his own strides even longer, faster. The prince’s sword was swaying lightly on his side, and he could only thank the feeling that made him oppose his Father’s suggestion of not taking such an obvious weapon.

He was taking two steps at a time, climbing the winding stairs, and cursing the Targaryens who came up with such an idiosyncratic layout for a home. Daeron was not quite sure why he had become so frantic, yet something seemed so out of place that he could do little else other than run as if his life was in danger. A sense of impending bane had started taking over as soon as Daenerys left, and it kept getting stronger.

When he finally reached the door to the Painted Table, with the head of a roaring dragon staring him down, it seemed very still and quiet at first, until he registered a loud voice, screaming. The men were a few steps down, but Daeron went ahead regardless, pushing on the door with his shoulder.

He was not sure of what he had expected to find, had barely truly thought about it, but whatever his mind could conjure, this was worse. His eyes focused instantly on Daenerys, on her knees in the middle of a puddle of blood that seemed to be growing larger by the second. She was clutching her dagger, firmly placed on her stomach, appearing about to go into complete shock, her skin grey and strange.

Later, it would frighten Daeron, the quickness with which his mind worked. It took but a moment to realize that Viserys, looming large over her, seeming half mad already, had been the one to attack Daenerys. He almost didn't register the woman dressed all in red at the corner of the large table with the map of Westeros, her expression downright horrified.

It was so fast, Viserys had not even noticed he was not alone with her anymore. Daeron did not question his own movement, did not stop to weight consequences, or the morality of it all. A life for a life. His sword was at his side, until it wasn’t. Until it was piercing Viserys’ back with deadly, furious precision in an upward arc, a horrifying mirror of what he had done to his own sister.

It was the first time Daeron used his abilities to kill someone, and the blood that hit his face scarcely mattered at all. He was already letting Viserys' body fall over, taking a step towards Daenerys and calling her name, even though she did not react to it, her eyes closing, her posture wavering.

There was just enough time to launch himself and catch her before her head hit the floor. Daeron looked around, frantic yet penetratingly focused, and anyone who could see the young prince then would have no doubt that he was the son of the most fearsome creatures known to men.

The guards that had stopped by the door seemed to feel the urge to move aside when they met the expression of the dragonwolf.

“One of you, go ahead to find the maester, he must still be with Ser Barristan. And make haste this time. The other two, stay with me.”

There was a slight hesitation before one took off running, but Daeron was already looking down at Daenerys, trying to not become desperate. The blood was slowing, and he did not dare take off the dagger, for fear of making it worse. He felt for her pulse on her neck, and it was faint, but still there, still steady.

"Please, please, please. Stay with me. Answer me, please."

His voice sounded hollow, cracking in strange ways, but he didn't care. It was enough effort to not hold her and cry, to not become savage with the idea that the very new life blooming in her could be lost, that this was his fault. It would do Dany no good if he started wallowing in his sorrow then and there. She did not react at all.

Very carefully, Daeron cradled the upper half of her body, ignoring the blood seeping into his clothes, and trying not to jostle her. He could remember many times in which she laid her head on his lap, and it made his stomach turn at how fast their happiness had morphed into his worst fears.

He looked around himself quickly, and realized Viserys had gone completely still, laying in his own puddle of blood that was about to mix with Daenerys', his eyes open, the light shade of lavander accusingly focused on Daeron, even in his last breath.

The prince waited a moment for regret to come, for the shock of taking such action that he had never thought himself capable of - yet it did not. The image of Viserys over Daenerys, most likely ending the life of their child before it even had a chance of truly beginning, was burnt into his mind forever, effectively halting his guilt.

He was aware that it would pain his Father, and that this act would instantly confirm to others that he was a danger to House Targaryen, to Aegon. He would pay for it later, a thousand times over, if it meant taking this revenge.

Part of him wanted to seize Daenerys and run, but it clearly was a bad idea. Moving away would only cause confusion while the maester and Ser Barristan would be trying to find Dany. It was agonizing, but there was little else to do aside from staying put.

Almost as a distraction, Daeron turned his torso in the direction of the woman in red.

“Who are you?”

“I am Melisandre of Asshai.” She sounded unsure, and it seemed to the prince that she was not used to the feeling.

“What were you doing here? What was your part in this?”

There was a treat in his words, and so the guards moved closer, ready to take the woman at the first sign.

“I came to meet Azor Ahai, as I’ve seen in the flames. I did not harm the princess.”

Azor Ahai. The name was familiar. His father would tell the story often, along with the many names of the Prince Who Was Promised. It was one of Daeron’s favorites as a child, but it was simply that. A story to scare and impress young ones. He knew King Rhaegar silently disagreed, but his son was not about to entertain such a thing. He kept his fingers pressed against the spot on Danearys’ neck where he could feel the drum of her heart, making sure she was there.

“You expect me to believe you came here, all the way from the Shadow Lands for the sake of a children’s story, and somehow was simply standing there while Viserys attempted to murder his own sister?”

His voice rose in anger with each word, and that was a good thing, because it kept it from faltering when he gave more thought to the woman. Asshai. Shadows. Here with Viserys, the person who wanted Daeron dead the most.

The implications made him feel nauseous and weak, and he wondered wildly if this was how the child made Dany feel. The child she may no longer have. _Do not think about it. Not now._

The prince tightened his hold on his silent lover, struggling for control in order to respond.

“Your Grace!” Ser Barristan’s voice cut through the moment.

Suddenly he could not care about Melisandre anymore, for Maester Desmond was coming just behind the kingsguard, the many different kinds of links that comprised his large chain swaying lightly, the best sound Daeron could hear during such a dark hour.

Daeron used this last moment of clarity to give an order.

“Ser Barristan, I need you to keep this woman, Melisandre, as our prisoner for the moment. I must speak to her later.”

He looked at Ser Barristan to see that he understood, but found the man frozen, taking in the scene before him, and Daeron realized it must have looked worse than he thought, all the blood, Viserys’ dead body and Dany looking not much better, quiet and pale in his arms. He shook slightly, trying to keep his emotions in check.

The guards that had come closer heeded his orders, and took hold of Melisandre, just as Maester Desmond kneeled before Daenerys, unfazed.

“It seems that Her Grace has lost quite a lot of blood. The flow appears to have slowed down, but I will have need to remove the blade, and then the blood will start leaving her anew, and we must act fast to contain it. She cannot afford to lose more.”

“Should we take her to a different place?”

“Yes. There is also the worry of infection. I will be thorough, so that Princess Daenerys may heal well. My Prince, is there something else I need to know? Ser Barristan told me that you came here to see me.”

The Maester’s clear blue eyes focused on Daeron, the same from when he was a child, and the man would care for his wounds, and tell stories to distract from the pain. The idea of escaping pain at that moment was almost ludicrous. It took every ounce of strength to answer clearly.

“Dany, she was with child. She was quite sure of it. She wanted you to confirm it, to help her. Now...”

Daeron realized he was already speaking in the past, as if his mind was trying to get through this ordeal faster, and somehow protect his heart from collapsing. Maester Desmond suddenly looked very sad.

“I see. We will speak more later. Please, let us take Her Grace to my study, I see that her brother is already lost to us.”

He said it with no judgement, and Daeron felt as if he had also been stabbed. _Speak later_. It sounded foreboding, in a way such innocuous words had no right to be.

He raised, concentrating solely on not moving Daenerys way too much, lest he lose himself. The prince felt it so close, the moment in which he would cry and despair and regret everything since they entered Dragonstone, yet he kept pushing it away, until he could be sure she was safe, and no one needed anything from him.

“Your Grace.” Ser Barristan spoke gently, as if Daeron were a dying man. “Let me take her. Please. It will be best, for both of you.”

He was feeling too numb to protest, and so relented. The kingsguard took Dany, and he followed closely, the three of them walking as fast as possible.

It was a strange thing, that felt like the frightening dreams he’d been having, to see her laid on the table, to watch as Maester Desmond plucked the stained Valeryan steel from her center, the flow of blood that seemed endless while they tried desperately to stop.

Only days before, Daeron would not have believed himself capable of calmly seeing the huge wound on Dany’s body, while the Maester cleaned it and applied ointments, without yearning for revenge. He _had_ revenge, yet it meant nothing at all, for it was not capable of undoing what had happened.

After what felt as an eternity, the Maester’s work was done, and Daenerys continued to lay still, pale and unfeeling. At some point, Rhaenys had entered the room, and she did not bother to say a word to him, or him to look at her at all. They simply held hands, watching everything.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” Rhaenys asked the question that was burning him.

“Her Grace has been through what must be an incredible shock, and the body and mind have ways of protecting themselves. She needs time to recover, and we must wait.”

Detachedly, Daeron noticed that the Maester was stalling, putting his things away, cleaning the space around Daenerys even more, adjusting her stained dress carefully, in the simple bed to the corner where they had placed her to rest. He knew what the old man had to say and was no more anxious to hearing it than the man was to say the words.

Finally, Maester Desmond turned to look at Daeron, and Rhaenys’ hold became painful, yet still not enough to tether him to anything. The man looked tender and dreary.

“I am sure you must also be worried about the child you mentioned, and I am so terribly sorry for not being able to give good news, Your Grace. You must understand, the first few moons are the most delicate for a woman and her unborn child. It is the moment that demands the most care, and unfortunately, Her Grace has lost an incredible amount of blood at a very early stage. Her inner tissues are also damaged, and recovery will demand quite a lot from her. It is highly unlikely that her pregnancy could withstand that.”

The prince waited a few heartbeats to answer, trying to understand his feelings. The news was not new at all – he guessed it long before the Maester spoke. It changed nothing, he felt nothing. He was so empty and out of control that Daeron could not get his lips to move for a while.

“I understand.” It was all he could muster.

The Maester replied quickly, trying to soothe the invisible wound.

“In due time, I believe Princess Daenerys will be perfectly able to conceive again. This is a terrible fate, but it doesn’t have to mean the end of everything.”

Daeron was not appeased. Surely, one day, this would be a good thing, something to look forward to. But no other child would be precisely the same as the one they had just lost. No new pregnancy would erase the trauma of this one, and the amount of horror and fear she must have felt. Nothing he could ever give her would take it away. And in that day, there was little beyond that truth.

“Can I be left alone?”

“May I just say one more thing, my Prince?”

For the first time in a long while, Daeron’s eyes left Daenerys completely. The man’s tone called his attention. He nodded.

“The woman, Melisandre, that you have thrown in the cells… She has been here for some time. She came the day Prince Viserys was meant to leave. As a man of science, I did not care much for her babble about her God, as I also do not really care about the Seven. I found her curious, and Viserys’ interest in her odd, yet I could never really understand His Grace at all. It wasn’t until they burned the statues of the Seven at the beach, with Septon Eddison tied to the Father, that I realized the danger we were all in. As soon as I could, I sent a raven to His Grace, the King, to warn him. I do not know if it was somehow intercepted or if simply did not reach you in time, but I apologize. If I had understood everything sooner, all of this could have been avoided.”

He was at a loss – he could not say there weren’t terrible consequences, nor could he offer forgiveness. Daeron was not even angry at the man, rather, he simply had nothing left to yield. Rhaenys saved him.

”We appreciate your honesty and loyalty, and I assure you, the woman, Melisandre, will face consequences for her actions.”

The man bowed, and left with a lingering look towards Daeron. He moved closer to where Daenerys rested, and waited for Rhaenys to leave also. She did not.

“Please, Rhaenys.”

“I feel as if I should also confess. There are things, suspicions I have been keeping to myself, and it wasn’t until moments ago that I recognized the damage this choice has caused.”

The prince sighed. He wanted to know what his sister had to say, and did not at the same time. So he placed a spare chair close to the bed, where he would remain for the foreseeable future, and inclined his forehead against Dany’s shoulder, giving up. Rhaenys took it as permission to continue.

“That night, when we were attacked by that... thing. You know I saw it for a moment. I never said anything else because I thought I was going mad and was afraid that Father would not allow us to come to Dragonstone. I see now that we _should_ have been stopped. I should have told you, more than anyone else.”

Rhaenys paused and Daeron did not look up or prompt her to continue. He could almost see her, twisting a strand of her long brown hair distractedly. He focused on that image on his mind to avoid thinking about what she was trying to say. What he already knew in his heart.

“The shadow had Viserys’ face. Just for a moment, but it was enough. I convinced myself later that it wasn’t, because I wanted to come here. I put helping him before Daenerys’ safety, before you. Daeron, I am so sorry, I - “

A wrecking sob interrupted Rhaenys, and it took him a moment to realize he was making that awful sound. Hot tears covered his face, and he could not remember the last time he had cried so deeply, as all the emotions seemed to crush him at once, against his best efforts.

He could not answer his sister if he wanted to, but perhaps that was enough of a response. Daeron did not know what her revelations made him feel, for there was no more room to think about something other then the gaping hole in his chest. He didn’t even hear Rhaenys walk away.

As reality settled over their family, this all consuming mourning took hold of Daeron. He was suffering for the loss of that child he was just getting used to thinking about as his own, for Daenerys’ pain and fear. For the way she would hurt even more once her eyes were open. Perhaps she knew that too, and that was why she had not returned yet.

In that terrible, endless time, Daeron even allowed himself to cry for Viserys. Not for the one he had grown used to, but the young boy of his childhood, not that different from Aegon, that once would have never dared hurt his own blood. That boy was gone, his potential smothered.

The prince felt as if he were a lost lad, so lost he could not even name what he was yearning for. That sentiment stretched for uncountable hours, as Daeron committed himself to feeling it all while his pain could not hurt anyone else.

He could not sleep at all, for whenever he closed his eyes, Daeron could only see a small girl, a smaller version of Daenerys, with long ringlets of silver hair trailing behind her as she ran away from him, her laughter sounding more as mockery than the pure happiness he knew it was meant to be.

And when he was not thinking of her, missing this lovely creature he had not even met, Daeron was commencing to be plagued by a strange form of remorse.

It was hard to deny the fact that, justified or not, he _had_ killed his uncle. Viserys was not much older than him, they had grown together. What did it say about Daeron, that he was so willing and ready to kill his own blood?

Was there really no other way?

He could not see another resolution to their terrible dance, yet it hurt regardless, the shame of it all. Viserys had to pay, but Daeron found himself wishing his hand didn’t have to be the one to deliver it. Even if Rhaenys was correct, and that shadow had come from Viserys after all, the amount of reasons for killing his uncle were insufficient to erase the weight of truly doing it.

Only much later did he become aware of a hand resting on his head, such a light touch that he wasn’t even sure it was real. He lifted his own hand to feel it, and surely, Daenerys’ small, soft hand was placed there.

“Dany!” His head hurt with another fast turn of his emotions, this time towards happiness.

But it was short lived, gone as soon as he took a good look at her. She was looking to the side, lost, and Daeron realized a new dawn had come and went, for the room was bright, allowing him to see the enormous bruise on her neck, shaped as four distinct lines.

“It was my fault, wasn’t it?”

He had wanted to hear her speak for so long, yet when it finally happened, the prince was filled with dread. Daeron half raised from his chair, his whole body hurting from staying still all night, but the danger was not a physical thing he could attack.

“No. Of course not. I should have never let you go, I am so sorry. I was a coward, I should -“

“Don’t. Don’t try to remove my mistakes.” Dany would still not look at him. “I was her mother. It was my duty to protect her, and I failed miserably. I couldn’t last more than a moon at this role.”

“It _was_ a mistake, but it was all of our faults. You can not take full responsibility for it.”

Maybe it was his tone, that had grown harsher, or maybe she did not care one way or another, but Daenerys finally turned to face Daeron. He flinched. Her amethyst eyes were surrounded by dark bruises, and it was hard to even picture her being happy or carefree again. She spoke with a kindness he believed her unable to produce at such a time in her life, yet she had always been greater than anyone’s expectations.

“I understand if you do not wish to marry me anymore. You don’t _have to_ anymore.”

Daeron had spent the dark hours of the night, and apparently even half a whole other day, thinking it was impossible for things to be even more wrong; yet somehow his world had tilted sideways another time.

“What are you even talking about? I have loved you my entire life, I am prepared to be with you, whether you bear children or not. No matter what, I love you, I trust you, I believe in you. Dany... I have killed for you.”

The words were out before he could put this feeling under control. He was not sorry, nor would he have done it differently, but he was starting to feel marked by it. _Kinslayer._ He had always felt sympathy towards Ser Jaime, but now he understood it with a clarity Daeron had never expected to know.

It was such a strange thing. Words he had said before, in the heat of passion, “I would kill for you”, were a much darker thing when actually acted upon. Now, the extent of his particular madness, the kinds of things he was willing to do for Daenerys, were bare. And he was frightened by how calmly he could accept it.

Unexpectedly, the corner of her lips tilted upwards just an inch. Daeron kept talking, hoping she would see.

“The Maester says he believes you will be able to have other children in the future. I know it’s not the same, and I do not claim it is, but you are not hopeless. _We_ are not hopeless. And by the Gods, even if we were, we would find happiness just as long as we did it together.” Tears were blurring his vision. “I love you so much, we are one and the same.”

It was nothing other than the truth.

Dany lifted her hand and he felt her thumb brushing at the wetness in his face.

“You said you trust me.”

“With my life.”

“Then there is something I must request from you.”

As he listened, Daeron realized what she was about to do. Fear for her creeped inside his heart, but he stayed, carefully remembering every single thing she wanted, which he would execute with no hesitation.


End file.
